Too Much is Never Enough
by Izumihimechan
Summary: Reilen is pretty good at brain work and she and Sherlock get on pretty well. But she can never admit how she really feels about him. When Moriarty uses Reilen to get to Sherlock it nearly destroys her. Will Sherlock ever find out the truth? Setting is slightly AU where John/Mary and Molly/Tom are already together. Set after Moriarty's trial but before the Fall. Please R&R!
1. A Night Out

Chapter 1: A Night Out

"Sherlock are you out of your damn mind?" I demanded as I stormed after him up the street, hurrying to keep up with his brisk pace.

"Depends on your definition of insanity, I suppose," he replied. "What've I done now?"

"You can't just call into my work and tell them I'm not coming in today!" He smiled slightly.

"Ah, yes," he remembered. "That. Good thing I caught up to you, wouldn't you say?" I scowled at him and resisted the urge to punch him.

"You could have at least come up with a good excuse!" I complained as we neared our flat. He paused and looked at me curiously.

"I thought I did."

"Telling them I'm being held at gun point isn't a _good_ excuse!" I snarled. We started walking again.

"If you're going to lie then just tell them I caught the flu or something! They're either going to freak out or fire me!" We reached 221B Baker Street and headed upstairs to our flat.

"It happens often enough," Sherlock pointed out. "I thought I ought to get a jump on things."  
"Sherlock!" I shouted as we walked into the living room.

"What's he done now?" John asked tiredly from his chair across from Sherlock's green leather chair.

"I only called her off work," Sherlock replied.

"By telling them I had a gun pointed at my head!" I was really having a hard time not punching him. John sighed and gave Sherlock a disapproving look.

"Sherlock," he scolded. "We've talked about this." Sherlock frowned and looked between the two of us.

"You two," he said pointing at each of us. "Are boring."

"Now, now," a pleasant voice chided as an older woman came up the stairs. "What's all the fuss about?"

"Mrs. Hudson, would it be all right if I punched Sherlock?" I requested. Our landlady blinked in surprise.

"Of course not," she answered. "That's never going to solve anything." I sighed heavily and flopped down on the sofa.

"Do we even have anything going on today?" I asked John. He shook his head and I shot Sherlock a nasty look.

"Everyone needs a holiday," he quipped. I opened my mouth to shout at him when the doorbell rang.

"Bet that's a case now," Sherlock pointed out.

"Bet it isn't," I muttered. The door opened and we could hear the sounds of footsteps approaching the flat's open door.

"Good morning Mrs. Hudson," a man's voice greeted her and a moment later a man about seven years older than Sherlock walked into the living room.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said in an annoyed tone. Sherlock's older brother ignored his younger brother's tone and dropped a file on the coffee table between John and Sherlock's chairs.

"It would seem Moriarty has returned," he said. Sherlock dove for the file and snatched it before John or I could move.

"Told you it was a case!" he crowed triumphantly. "I knew it! This is excellent!"

"What is?" I questioned cocking an eyebrow at him. "The psycho's back. That's excellent, how, exactly?"

"Gives me something to do!" Sherlock pointed out. "He'll have something horrid planned, I'm sure. I haven't had a big case in ages."

"Sherlock, he _kills_ people," John replied. Sherlock blinked.

"Yes, well, that's awful and all that." He waved dismissively. John and I rolled our eyes at each other. Moriarty had been on trial for breaking into the security system at Pentonville prison, the Bank of England, and the Tower of London, and breaking into the case holding the Crown Jewels. He had been found Not Guilty. If Sherlock knew how he'd done it he wasn't saying. Moriarty had come to the flat and told Sherlock he had something special planned but no one knew what that meant.

"Well look it over," Mycroft instructed. "Let me know when you've found something. Hopefully he'll hold off doing anything for some time."

"Doubtful," Sherlock mused as he read through the file. Mycroft nodded to us and left. Sherlock was engrossed in the file and hardly paid any attention to me or John after that.

* * *

As the evening neared I went up to the room I shared with John to get ready for an evening out. John currently had a girlfriend and he spent most of his time at her place so I was free to use his room until they broke up, although I hoped they didn't because Mary was a lovely person. We shared his closet but I had my own dresser. When he didn't have a girlfriend I slept downstairs in Mrs. Hudson's spare room or upstairs on the sofa, as was usually the case. There was actually another flat in the building but it was in the basement and seemed too damp for me to want to live in. Luckily, Mrs. Hudson didn't mind me staying in her flat when I wasn't staying with John and Sherlock.

"Well, I'm off," I said as I came down to the living room.

"Going out?" John questioned. I nodded and flashed my mobile at him showing off a dating app I had installed.

"Just for drinks and a bite to eat." Sherlock looked up and blinked at me.

"What on Earth are you dressed like that for?" he asked. I looked down at my outfit. It wasn't too different from my usual attire. I was wearing a pair of black jeans and a dark purple top. It wasn't too skimpy so I didn't understand Sherlock's problem with it.

"You're wearing makeup," he clarified when I gave him a puzzled look.

"I'm going out for drinks," I repeated. "I'll be back later."

"Who with?" Sherlock demanded.

"A guy I met online," I answered.

"You're on a _dating_ website?" he asked in disbelief. I felt a twinge of hurt at his tone. Like the idea of me dating was so farfetched.

"Why's that so ridiculous?" I snapped. "I can date people."

"You're really going to meet with someone you've _never seen_?" Sherlock pressed.

"We've sent each other photos," I told him. "I know what he looks like."

"Oh don't be so daft!" Sherlock snapped. "He could have chosen a photo of anybody! Since when do you _date_ anyway? You're not exactly a social butterfly." That comment stung wore than his earlier tone.

"Well, I've got to try, haven't I?" I replied frostily. "How else am I ever going to meet—"

"The man of your dreams?" Sherlock cut in. I flushed and swallowed down an angry retort.

"Someone worth marrying," I bit out before turning to John. "Bye, John."

"Have fun," he said calmly but his eyes flicked between me and Sherlock and I could tell he was upset that Sherlock had been rude.

"See you later," Sherlock called as I opened the door. I slammed the door in response and stormed down the stairs.

* * *

The pub where I was meeting my date, Nick, was several streets away from Baker Street and since the weather was pretty pleasant I decided to walk there. I could take a cab home after if I needed to.

The pub was crowded and noisy and I cringed a little inside as I walked through the door. Sherlock had been right, as usual. I didn't like crowds and I was generally uncomfortable if I wasn't with people that I knew. But after all the things he had said I was determined to prove him wrong. I found an empty seat at the bar and texted Nick to let him know that I had arrived.

"You Rei?" the bartender asked. I looked up and nodded.

"Bloke phoned and said to tell you he'd be late," he informed me. "Asked me to get you a drink."

"Oh, okay," I replied. "Um—I'll have a vodka cranberry, please."

"Comin' right up." The bartender nodded and turned to get my drink. I wondered why Nick hadn't texted me to let me know he was running late but before I could text him to ask him what was keeping him my drink was placed in front of me. I smiled at the bartender and took a sip of the drink.

* * *

\- - Nearly there. 10 minutes.

Nick's text message caused my mobile to beep as I was working on my second drink. It was now about half an hour past our original meet time but I was trying not to be too upset.

\- - Okay I sent back.

The bartender set a third drink in front of me and I waved it away.

"I'm good," I assured him.

"'Ave one more, love," he insisted. "No harm in that." I shrugged, finished my current drink, and began drinking the next one. They weren't very large drinks so I was able to finish it quickly. Fifteen minutes later I was seriously pissed. Nick was _way_ late and now I was going to have to go back home and Sherlock would know right off that he had been right. _Damn it_. I sighed angrily and stood up. My head spun and someone steadied me from behind.

"Sorry I'm late, love," a voice said quietly in my ear. I tensed. I knew that voice…didn't I?

"Let's get out of here, shall we?" the guy suggested steering me toward the entrance to the bar. He collected my coat and supported me as he half walked/half carried me outside. Everything felt so heavy and I was so tired. I couldn't understand what was wrong with me. Surely three drinks wouldn't have this effect on me? A car was waiting at the curb and in the reflection of the window I saw Nick's face. I gasped and stumbled away from him.

" _Moriarty_!" His name came out garbled but he smiled all the same.

"Get in the car, Reilen," he requested as he opened the door. It took me a minute to process what he had said. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and the feeling was only getting worse. A sickening realization hit me and I stumbled back another step.

"Did you— _drug_ me?" I accused him. He took a step toward me.

"A little Rohypnol works wonders," he admitted. "Bit 'frat boy' but it served its purpose." I wanted to run back to Baker Street but my legs stopped working and my vision blurred. I sagged toward the sidewalk and Moriarty moved forward smoothly and caught me.

"Time to sleep now," he ordered. My eyes drifted closed as he loaded me into the back of the car.


	2. Let's Play a Game

Chapter 2: Let's Play a Game

A popping sound woke me up. A loud angry hissing followed it. Another pop, another hiss. Something slithered around and at the next pop a thud followed like whatever was there had slammed into something. I opened my eyes and found that I couldn't see. I panicked for a second before I realized that I had been blindfolded. As I reached up to take it off Moriarty's voice echoed around the room, from a speaker system judging by the sound of it.

"Leave it," he barked. I jumped and put my hands down.

"Where am I?" I demanded. "What's all that noise!?" Moriarty chuckled.

"Well, if you're _that_ curious, I suppose you can look now," he allowed before calling out a warning in a sing song tone. "But you're not gonna like it." I removed the blindfold and saw that I was on a raised platform, quite a distance from the floor. Another pop came from below me, another hiss, another thud. I peered over the edge of the platform and screamed. A python, I wasn't sure what kind and I honestly didn't care, was slithering around the floor. The thing was easily 30 feet long. Maybe more. At every pop it hissed, coiled, and struck in the direction of the noise. I let out another scream and scrambled back against the wall. Logically, I knew that it couldn't reach me. I was too high up and there was no way for it to climb up to me but my deep fear of snakes blocked all logic from my brain and I couldn't stop screaming.

* * *

Sometimes whatever was being shot into the room to make the popping sound hit the snake and then it went ballistic.

" _Please_!" I screamed for about the fiftieth time. "Please just stop it! Stop it!" Moriarty's voice came over the speakers again.

"Oh Sherlock?" he sing songed. "Wondering where little Reilen's gotten to?" I couldn't hear Sherlock's reply so Moriarty must have been on the phone with him.

"Well, can't you hear her?" Moriarty questioned. "Oh, yes, the mute's on." The snake slammed into the platform and I screamed.

" _Sherlock_!" I sobbed. Moriarty laughed but I had no idea if it was because of me or because of something Sherlock had said.

"Yes, she's screaming," he drawled. "Been doing that for quite a while. I'm getting rather tired of it. Oh, _why_ is she screaming? Well I put a _really_ big snake in the room with her and she hasn't stopped screaming since she saw it." He paused as Sherlock said something.

"Of course it can't get to her," Moriarty snapped. "Can't have her dying right off now, can I? But I'm ready for the next fun little thing so no more snake." I peered over the edge of the platform in time to see a compartment open in the wall and the barrel of a gun appeared. One shot echoed around the room and the snake stopped moving.

' _Great, he's got one of his sharp shooters around,_ ' I realized in dismay. I had no idea how to out run a sniper.

"Nighty-night," Moriarty called. Gas filled the room and I tried to hold my breath but it wasn't long before I was choking on the gas and then everything went black.

* * *

 _"_ _Reilen, you have to wake up!" Sherlock's voice snapped at me and his voice seemed to echo around me. "Open your eyes! WAKE. UP!"_

My eyes snapped open.

"Sherlock!" I gasped. I looked around, realizing that I was in a different room. A second later I realized that my arms were being held over my head. I looked up and saw that my wrists were handcuffed to a pipe. I could sit down but I wouldn't be able to stand up.

"No Sherlock here," Moriarty sneered. My eyes flashed over to where he was leaning against the opposite wall.

"But—I—thought I heard—" Moriarty laughed and straightened up.

"All in your head," he replied. "He does that, doesn't he? Gets in your head. Think I can drive him out?" I cringed at the wolfish grin on his face. I didn't want Moriarty in my head. _Anyone_ but him.

"Let's try, shall we?" he suggested when I said nothing. He came over and crouched beside me. He reached into his pocket and I flinched away from him. My reaction amused him.

"It's only my mobile," he pointed out in a childlike tone. I watched wearily as he pulled up his camera and set it so that the frame was flipped and facing us. I could see the two of us in the frame. Moriarty leaned closer to me and pressed his cheek against mine like we were friends.

"Say cheese!" he said as he snapped the picture. I could feel his grin against my cheek. He pulled away from me and fixed me with a cold stare.

"Now the fun begins," he growled. "Time to see if I can use you to tear Sherlock apart."

' _Me!?_ ' I thought in confusion. ' _Why would he use me? If he wanted to really get at Sherlock he should have gone after John._ ' Which I realized was an awful thought but it was true nonetheless. John was Sherlock's best friend. He often said that John was his _only_ friend even though there were other people he cared about, myself included.

"Wondering why I chose you?" he questioned. "John would have been a perfect choice if I wanted someone to ruff up. But you're a _girl_."

"What's that matter?" I demanded.

"You'll see." He was giving me that wolfish grin again. "Time for more pictures, I think." I wasn't expecting what he did next. He yanked my shirt up and tucked it behind my head. My shoes, shocks, and jeans came off next. When I was in just my bra and underwear he began taking pictures. My face burned with embarrassment and I had to shut my eyes to keep myself from crying.

"Good," he said to me. "Now let's try some without the bra." As he yanked my bra up over my head I felt my stomach churn with fear. What was he going to do next? He wouldn't—wouldn't—God I couldn't even _think_ the word.

"One last picture," he decided. I opened my eyes as he came over and crouched beside me. I expected him to press his cheek against mine. Instead, he planted a kiss on my cheek and I shut my eyes tight as he snapped the picture. Moriarty giggled gleefully as he began typing on his mobile. Then he put it to his ear and walked away from me.

"Sherlock?" he asked. "I sent you something. I want to know what you think. I have to warn you though, they're sort of sexual. Don't want you to be alarmed." I could imagine Sherlock's reply so vividly that I nearly heard it.

 _"_ _Sex doesn't alarm me."_

"This probably will," Moriarty disagreed. "Do you see them? What'd you think?" He laughed loudly at something.

"Is that John I hear?" he asked. "Oh, he sounds _mad_! Have I made you mad Johnny Boy?"

"Sherlock!" I shouted. "John!" Moriarty turned sharply and glared at me.

"I'll call you back later," he growled. "I've got something to deal with." I gulped as he hung up and stalked toward me.

"I was going to give you a little time before I moved on to the next bit. But since you can't keep your stupid mouth shut I guess we can start now!" He unlocked the handcuffs and let me stand up.

"Get dressed," he commanded. I scrambled into my clothes and he grabbed my arm and dragged me over to a table I hadn't noticed before. He shoved me into the only chair before going to stand across the table from me.

"It's rude to interrupt someone when they're on the phone," he scolded me. "Weren't you taught any manners? Rudeness needs to be punished, don't you think?" The slap across the face was a shock. I stared at him unable to say anything.

"We're going to play a game," he said as he paced around the table. "I'll ask a question and you answer it. If you get it wrong you'll be punished. If you get it right—well I don't expect you to get any of them right to be perfectly honest. Understand?" I stared down at the table and didn't reply. That made him chuckle.

"You think if you keep quiet long enough it'll give him time to find you." I pressed my lips into a tight line.

"No one is going to find us," he told me. " _NO ONE_!" I jumped as he shouted and slammed his fist down on the table.

"Why would he want to find you anyway? You're so… _ordinary_ and _boring_." I bit down on my bottom lip to stop myself from saying anything. I didn't think Sherlock thought I was too ordinary or boring. We certainly argued enough to keep his attention. He always seemed to enjoy our disagreements.

"I'm not going to play your game," I said quietly speaking to the table. Moriarty laughed.

"Oh yes you will," he insisted. "It's either this or I amuse myself in _other_ ways." I looked up to see the predatory look in his eyes. So this was how it was going to be. A choice between his game or _that_.

"All right," I agreed. "I'll play." Moriarty smiled and clapped his hands together.

"Good!" he cheered. "First question, on the periodic table what is hydrogen labeled as?" This was _too_ easy.

"H." He gave me a kind smile that disturbed me since I wasn't expecting it.

"Good girl," he responded as he patted me on the top of my head.

"Thought you said I wouldn't get any of the answers right," I muttered.

"Just wanted to see if you had any brains in you," he sniped. "Next question, what does _Reichenbach_ translate to in English?" I frowned. The word was German but I didn't speak German. How was I supposed to know that?

"I—I don't know," I admitted fearing what his reaction was going to be.

"You're around Sherlock all day and you can't speak German yet?" he scoffed. " _Rich Brook_ , Reilen. That's what it means. It was _easy_. Guess it's time for your punishment." His hand slammed against the side of my face, rocking my head to the side. This slap was much harder than the one before and my ear rang from the force. Tears welled in my eyes but I refused to cry in front of Moriarty. Sherlock wouldn't do that if he were in this position.

"Next question, what color are Sherlock's eyes?" I sighed with relief. This question was easy. I _knew_ that.

"Green," I answered and then paused before adding. "Pale green. The color of fluorite when it's held up to the light."

"Awful descriptive," Moriarty noted. "Spend a lot of time studying them, do you?" I shrugged.

"Well, good girl." He patted my on the head again. My body relaxed. I had pleased him. He wasn't going to hit me this time. I just had to keep answering the questions correctly.

' _But how many questions is he going to ask?_ ' I wondered as I watched him pace around the table.

* * *

"Focus Reilen," Moriarty ordered. "Next question." I forced my eyes open and looked at him through blurry vision. I didn't know how long we had been "playing" but I was exhausted and my face was swollen from all the punishments I had received. I had gotten more answers wrong than right and as a result my nose and lip were bleeding. He never punched me but the slaps had gotten progressively harder as the questions had gone on.

"Can't you pay attention?" he demanded. "Do you want me to show you what happens when you don't pay attention?"

"N—No," I stammered. "Please, I'm sorry. I'll focus. I promise." Moriarty smirked and leaned over the table toward me.

"Do you love Sherlock?" he asked the question in a loud whisper, like we were school girls talking in class. I stared at him. Did he really just ask me that?

"I—" I began.

"And don't lie," he warned. "I'll know if you lie." I hung my head knowing that he was going to have field day with my answer.

"Yes," I responded. Moriarty let out a shrill laugh apparently finding my attraction to Sherlock hilarious. He pulled me from my chair and clamped his hands around my forearms.

"What're you doing?" I asked wearily.

"Dance with me," he requested. I blinked in confusion as he began spinning us slowly in a circle.

' _This is just spinning,_ ' I pointed out to myself. ' _Why's he doing this?_ '

"Why do you love Sherlock?" Moriarty asked.

"Because he's brilliant," I responded feeling a small smile form on my lips. "Because he drives me mad. Because—he's _Sherlock_." Moriarty nodded at my reasons.

"He'll never love _you_ though," he said in a nasty tone. "Do you honestly think he ever could? You're not even half as smart as he is! I think _John's_ even smarter than you and that's saying something." We were spinning faster now.

"He's going to get bored with you eventually, you know that, don't you?" he continued. "You're a _pet_. No better than a house cat. Well, I suppose John's more like Sherlock's pet dog, isn't he? You're more like a dumb rodent, like a hamster. No! A mouse! You're Sherlock's pet mouse!" I was starting to feel sick from all the spinning. I tried to ignore Moriarty's insults but I could feel them nestling into the back of my mind. It was true, wasn't it? I wasn't very smart. I had no idea why Sherlock put up with me. I felt my eyes fill with tears.

"That's it," Moriarty went on. "You're a stupid, useless, little mouse! Final question, Reilen, what are you?"

"A mouse," I answered.

" _Wrong_!" Moriarty said as he let go of my arms. I slammed into the wall and smacked my head. I slumped to the floor and looked up at Moriarty.

"You said I was a mouse," I protested weakly. "That's the right answer." His eyes filled with a dangerous angry light.

" _WRONG_!" he shouted. "That's _not_ what I said! I said you were a _stupid, useless, little mouse_!"

"I'm sorry," I whimpered. He composed himself and took a deep breath.

"Now," he said as he fixed me with that dangerous look. "Let's try this again. _What are you_?"

"A stupid, useless, little mouse," I replied in a small voice. His face lit up with a smile and he came over, pulled me to my feet, and patted me on the head.

"Very good," he congratulated me. "Good girl. Very good girl. Let's go see you're reward, shall we?"


	3. Apple or Cloak?

Chapter 3: Apple or Cloak?

The next room had another table but no chairs. On the table sat a red apple and a red coat.

"Time for another choice," Moriarty instructed. "Apple or coat?"

"What's the catch?" I questioned eyeing both objects suspiciously.

"The apple is poison," he explained. "Choose that and I'll let Sherlock know where we are. The poison is _excruciating_ but fast enough that it'll give Sherlock enough time to get here and watch you die."

"And the coat?" He snapped his fingers and five brutish looking men stepped into the room.

"I'll let you go," he said. "And my friends will chase you. If you make it to safety before they catch you then you can go. If they catch you first…well you probably won't be doing much of anything after that."

"Sounds like a fairy tale," I replied. "Snow White and Red Riding Hood."

"Very good!" Moriarty exclaimed. "Exactly right! Every fairy tale needs a good old fashioned villain. So what'll it be Reilen, the apple or my wolves?"

"What counts as safety?" I asked. "Where do I have to make it to?"  
"Anywhere." He shrugged. "As long as you get there first." I nodded.

"The coat," I decided. Moriarty grabbed my arm and pulled me from the room with his men following.

"I'll give you a fifteen minute head start," he said as we reached a door that led outside. "Just to be fair." I turned toward the door waiting for him to tell me to run.

"Just one more thing," he added. "Since I know where you're going to run and all." He spun me around and drove the blade of a knife into my stomach. I doubled over in pain as he grabbed my shoulder and leaned close to my ear.

"Run little mouse," he ordered quietly. "Run from the wolves." He released me and I stumbled out the door. I wanted to collapse but I knew that if I didn't run then blood loss would be the least of my problems. I scanned my surroundings trying to figure out where I was. Luckily, Sherlock had insisted that I learn the geography of London so while I wasn't exactly sure where I was I at least knew how far away I was from Baker Street. Keeping one hand over the wound in the stomach, I pulled out my mobile and sent a text to Sherlock.

\- - Where are you?

His reply came almost immediately.

\- - Scotland Yard.

I let out a sigh of relief.

\- - Heading there.

Good. That was closer. I shoved my mobile into my pocket and started running. My body reacted exactly like I expected it to meaning that my legs gave out and I dropped to the ground.

' _Get up!_ ' I screamed at myself. ' _You have to GET UP!_ ' I struggled to my feet and forced myself to start running again.

Every breath burned my lungs and my hand was slick with blood. I could hear Moriarty's men behind me but I was nearly there. Just two more blocks. Ahead of me I saw Sherlock and John's familiar forms out on the sidewalk, clearly waiting for me.

"Got'cha!" One of the men grabbed me from behind.

" _Sherlock_!" I screamed as I was dragged backwards. I saw both Sherlock and John turn towards the sound of my voice before the men pounced on me. Moriarty had been right to call them wolves. They acted just like a pack of wolves only instead of ripping me apart they punched, kicked, and stomped on me. A shot rang out and the men scattered like cockroaches from a light.

" _Jesus_!" John cried as he and Sherlock knelt beside me.

"Lestrade's already called an ambulance," Sherlock said. "They should be here momentarily."

"How did you—?" John began in a baffled tone. "Never mind." John's medical training took over and he began to check my pulse.

"Pulse is weak and thready," he noted. "God he stabbed her!?"

"She's been beaten as well," Sherlock added. As the two of them began going over my injuries: broken ribs, bruises, stab wound, possibly fractured wrist, I began to pass out.

"Reilen, no!" Sherlock ordered sharply as his hands gripped either side of my face. "You have to stay awake. Concentrate on my voice." I blinked slowly at him trying desperately to do what he asked. The wail of sirens approached us and suddenly I was being lifted onto a stretcher.

"Sorry…Sherlock," I gasped as I lost consciousness. "I was…wrong."

* * *

I opened my eyes and found myself in a very familiar room. The living room at 221B Baker Street. I knew I couldn't really be home, though, since the last thing I remembered was being loaded into an ambulance. I was in my mind palace, which, unlike Sherlock's wasn't very much like a palace at all. Mine was mainly a hallway with doors on either side. I'd only started doing the whole 'mind palace' thing recently so it wasn't very organized yet…

 _"_ _Sherlock?" I called uncertainly. He appeared out of thin air right in front of me._

 _"_ _You know what's happened, don't you?" he asked. I nodded._

 _"_ _Am I dying?" I questioned._

 _"_ _Now that the adrenaline is leaving you system you're going to have to keep your body from going into shock," he instructed. "You're not dying yet but if you can't control the pain you'll be dying soon enough." I couldn't even make my mental version of Sherlock be anything but—well—_ _ **Sherlock**_ _._

 _"_ _I'm okay," I assured him. "I'm—" I collapsed onto the floor and let out a scream as intense pain flooded my system._

 _"_ _Reilen, your injuries are extensive," Sherlock told me in that tone he used when he thought I was being stubborn. "You need to find something to distract yourself." I struggled to my feet and staggered into the hallway. It was long, every memory or fact I needed had its own room. I realized now that it would be much simpler if my mind palace had different floors like Sherlock said his did. So many doors. Which one would calm me down? I threw open one door after another trying to pick one. Memories of my childhood, vivid imaginings of books that I had read (which Sherlock said was nothing but clutter. I should keep the_ _ **information**_ _from the books, not the_ _ **daydreams**_ _I had about them), memories of my life with John and Sherlock._

 _"_ _It's not working!" I groaned as another wave of pain knocked me into a wall._

 _"_ _You have to_ _ **try harder**_ _!" Sherlock commanded. I suddenly found myself in front of a door at the end of the hallway. It was black, shrouded in darkness, and the handle was silver while all the others were gold._

 _"_ _Don't go in there," Sherlock warned. I knew why I shouldn't. That room was where I kept anything traumatizing. Any memory I didn't want to think about. I didn't have many, in fact, until recently I hadn't had any. I had only created it because Sherlock had told me to. He had explained that eventually I would have something I wanted to lock away in there. I knew what was in there now._

 _My hand reached out and turned the knob. As I stepped into the room I felt a chill settle over me. Sherlock was gone and I was alone._

 _"_ _Looks like I win." Moriarty stepped out of the shadows and grinned at me, continuing in that sing song tone of his. "The wolves ate Little Red Riding Hood and the Huntsman couldn't save her." I dropped to my knees in front of him unable to breathe. My limbs became ridged and I fell onto my side._

 _"_ _You're so boring," Moriarty sneered as he crouched in front of me. "Just like I thought. Poor little mouse. Sherlock can't save you now. Should have chosen the apple, it would have been quicker." I shut my eyes feeling my mind give up. I was too tired. I was too hurt. My injuries were too severe. I had lost too much blood. My body went limp against the wooden floor of the room and I waited._

 _"_ _You're_ _ **dying**_ _my dear. I'll bet it hurts. I can't wait to see Sherlock's face. He and John will be so_ _ **sad**_ _!" My body jerked like I had been shocked and my eyes snapped open._

 _'_ _ **Sherlock!**_ _'_ _I thought frantically._ ' ** _John!_** _'_

 _"_ _Don't fight it," Moriarty crooned in my ear. "Just let go."_

 _"_ _ **No**_ _!" I snarled through clenched teeth as I struggled to my knees. He kicked me backwards and I couldn't breathe again. Another jolt ran though my body and I realized what was happening. I was really dying. I had to fight. I had to get out of here. I forced myself to my feet and clawed my way out into the hallway._

 ** _Calm down. I have to calm down._** _Using the wall, I dragged myself back the way I had come. It was like walking through waist high mud. Every step was harder than the one before._

 _Finally, I came to a room with a pale green door, green like the color of Sherlock's eyes. I opened the door and fell inside. Music filled the room, violin music. I closed the door and leaned back against it, gasping for breath. The music stopped for a minute and Sherlock turned from the only window to look at me._

 _"_ _There you are," he said. "Tell me what you think of this piece. I've been working on it for days. John's no good at this sort of thing." He began playing again and I closed my eyes, listening to the music. I felt my breathing slow to a normal pace. I felt safe in here, calm and peaceful. Just me and Sherlock and his music. I sighed quietly and smiled to myself._

 _"_ _Sherlock…" I said softly. "It's…"_

I opened my eyes and shut them again against the brightness of the light above me. I could hear a steady beeping nearby and I when I opened my eyes again I saw that the room wasn't actually that bright. It had just seemed that way probably because I had been unconscious.

"Morning," Sherlock's voice said. I turned my head and saw him sitting in a chair beside my bed. His elbow was propped on the arm of the chair and his chin rested between his thumb and forefinger. He looked almost bored except that I could see the worry in his eyes.

"Sherlock." My voice came out weak and raspy. I glanced around the room and saw that we were alone.

"John went to get coffee," he said even though I hadn't asked where John was. "He'll be back soon. How's your pain?"

"Fine," I answered. "How bad was it?" I could feel that my face was still swollen and there was a dull ache in my stomach and ribs. I looked down and saw that my right wrist was in a splint.

"You died." His tone was sharp like he was angry with me. I flinched and twisted the hospital blanket between my fingers.

"I know," I responded in a whisper. "Did Lestrade catch any of the men?" I glanced over at him. He looked surprised by my question. Clearly he hadn't expected me to ask about that.

"One or two. They're not talking."

"'Course not," I muttered.

"You're awake!" John's voice made Sherlock and I look over at the door.

"Hi John," I replied. He set down the two coffees he was carrying and rushed over to me.

"How're you feeling?" he wondered as he hugged me. "Do you need anything? How's your pain?"  
"Fine," I assured him. "I'm fine." John's eyes narrowed as he studied me.

"No you're not," he argued. "Something's wrong." I shrugged.

"Sherlock's mad at me," I told him. John glared at Sherlock and walked around the bed to stand in front of him.

"What could you _possibly_ be mad at her for?" John snapped. That look of surprise crossed Sherlock's face again.

"I'm not angry with her," he responded in a baffled tone. "I was worried."

"Sounded more like angry," I informed him. Sherlock shrugged.

"Well, emotions come out in different ways I suppose." John and I rolled our eyes at each other but were much more relaxed after that.

* * *

"Easy does it," John cautioned as he walked behind me up the stairs to our flat. Sherlock was ahead of me and at the top of the stairs he turned and looked exasperatedly down at John.

"For god's sake, John, she's not an infant!" he snapped. "She can manage the stairs just fine."

"She's only just got out of hospital," John snapped back. "She's still got stiches and the meds she's on throw off her balance."

"I'm fine," I insisted but the stairs had me out of breath so I knew John didn't believe me. We walked into the living room and I collapsed onto the sofa.

"You need water," John decided. "I'll get you some. How about some soup?"

"Water's fine," I called as he bustled into the kitchen.

"John, stop mothering," Sherlock ordered. "It's ridiculous." John leaned around the kitchen doorway and frowned.

"Shut up Sherlock." As soon as John had disappeared into the kitchen again Sherlock focused on me.

"Really, though, how're you feeling?" he asked.

"Just tired," I told him. "A little woozy maybe." Sherlock nodded and studied me intently.

"What?" I asked eyeing him nervously.

"Shall we discuss it now?" he replied. I felt my stomach drop as a wave of panic flooded through me.

"Discuss what?" John questioned as he came in with a tray on which was a glass of water and a bowl of soup. "Reilen, what's wrong?"

"N—Nothing," I stammered.

"What did you do?" He turned to Sherlock with a disapproving look.

"I think we ought to discuss what happened," Sherlock responded calmly. "I need the details."

"Please don't make me," I said in a small voice. "I—I can't go over it right now."

"Sherlock, we don't need to do this now," John said. "She just got home." Sherlock started to pace in an agitated fashion around the room.

"We _do_ though!" he shouted causing me to cringe. "I need to know what he did! _Why_ he did it! How did he even get her in the first place!?" I had never seen Sherlock like this and it made me angry. I just didn't know if I was angry at him for being upset because I didn't want to talk or because I was angry at Moriarty for putting us in this position.

"You were right!" I shouted back at him as I stood painfully. "All right!? About me going out on that date! He pretended to be someone else, Moriarty, he—he tricked me and then he probably paid off the bartender to put Rohypnol in my drink. That's—that's how he got me." Sherlock turned sharply and stared at me.

"He drugged you?" John sounded disgusted. And why wouldn't he be? I was disgusted every time I thought about it.

"Quite an easy way to go about it," Sherlock pointed out. "It's tasteless. You wouldn't even notice it was there."

"Sherlock that is _so far_ from the point!" John cried.

"No, you see that _is_ the point!" Sherlock snapped. "It was easy for him to get at her!" Tears filled my eyes and I started crying.

"I'm _sorry_!" I sobbed. "You were right. I—I should have listened to you!" John came over and helped me sit back down.

"No," he replied. "No. You've got nothing to be sorry for. It wasn't your fault."

"'Course it was," I whimpered. "Sherlock said it was a bad idea but I was so mad at him for acting like I couldn't get a date that I wanted to prove him wrong."

"Ohoo-Ohoo!" Mrs. Hudson's voice called as she walked up the stairs. She took in the scene in the living room and rushed over to me.

"Reilen, love, what's the matter?" she asked worriedly.

"Nothing Mrs. Hudson," I said as I swiped at my eyes. "I'm fine."

"Sherlock's upset her," John told her.

" _Me?_ " Sherlock's eyebrows shot up.

"Yes, you," John snapped. "I told you to leave her alone but you had to go and get her riled up."

"Oh _Sherlock_!" Mrs. Hudson scolded him as she put her arm around my shoulders.

"I've got to know what happened!" he insisted. "Moriarty never does things without a reason and I need to know why he took Reilen in the first place. I need to know what he did to her."

" _Not now_ ," John argued. I took a deep breath and dried my eyes.

"No," I said before they could start arguing. "No. It's fine. What'd you want to know?" Sherlock sat down across from me and his eyes darted around as he studied my face. I knew he was cataloging all my injuries so he could fit them into what Moriarty had done to me.

"So he took you and locked you in a room with a snake," he said. "Which you apparently found terrifying."  
"It was huge," I clarified. "At least 30 feet. Maybe more. He was shooting something into the room to make it angry and—and I don't like snakes Sherlock."

"But you were where it couldn't get you?" I nodded.

"Up on a platform. He had the snake shot and then he knocked me out with some sort of gas and I woke up in a different room handcuffed to a pipe."

"Which is when he sent me those pictures." I nodded again and looked at my lap as my face burned with embarrassment.

"He didn't—he didn't _do_ anything to you, did he?" John asked.

"No," I said firmly. "He got angry because I shouted for you and Sherlock. There was a table in the room and he made me sit at it and play a game."

"What sort of game?" Sherlock asked.

"A game of questions. If I got one wrong he slapped me. If I got it right he'd pat me on the head. I got more wrong than I did right which was the whole point."

"What questions did he ask?"

"He asked what Hydrogen was on the periodic table," I remembered. "I got that one right. He asked me to translate things from German and French and Russian to English. I got all those wrong since I don't speak any of those."

"Did he ask you anything about me?" Sherlock wanted to know.

"Asked if I knew the color of your eyes," I replied. "And some other stuff but nothing important."

"And then he let you go?" Sherlock asked. I shook my head and explained about the final choice between the apple and the coat. I left out the part where Moriarty ridiculed me for loving Sherlock.

"I thought I would have a better chance trying to outrun them," I finished. "I nearly made it."

"Happy now?" John snapped at Sherlock. I was fighting the urge to be sick now that the memories were running rampant through my mind. I closed my eyes and forced them back behind the black door. I added a lock and locked it tight with a key.

"Very," Sherlock replied.

"Well I think Reilen needs to eat some soup and then get some rest," John decided. "It's been a long day. Doctor's orders." I accepted the soup he had brought me even though I had told him I wasn't hungry. He wouldn't leave me alone until I ate it anyway.

* * *

"Where's she going to sleep?" Mrs. Hudson asked as John cleared away my tray. He had given me another dose of my pain medication with my food and now I was starting to feel myself drifting off.

"She can stay in my room," John offered. "No sense in her going back down the stairs. I can take the sofa."

"No, s'okay," I slurred as I settled on the sofa. "I wanna sleep here. No moving please."

"Sure?" John asked worriedly.

"Mmhm," I mumbled. "S'fine." Everyone said goodnight after that and went to bed.

* * *

 _"_ _What's the answer Reilen?" Moriarty demanded. "Time's up."_

 _"_ _I—I don't know," I whimpered. I flinched before he had even raised his hand. He slapped me once across one cheek and once across the other._

 _"_ _Two for flinching!" he giggled. I had to keep myself from crying as I prepared for what I was about to say._

 _"_ _I don't want to play anymore," I told him in a low voice. He leaned across the table and grinned at me._

 _"_ _Is that so?" he asked. I nodded and he came around the table, perching against the edge when he was right next to me._

 _"_ _Well you can make that decision if you want," he allowed. "But I'm going to entertain myself in other ways." He brushed my hair away from my face and ran his fingertips up and down my cheek. I let out a hiss of pain and recoiled from his touch feeling my skin crawl._

 _"_ _What will Sherlock think if you survive this, hm?" he continued. "What'll he think when he finds out that you chose to let me have my way with you over answering some simple questions?"  
"They're not simple though!" I cried near tears again at the thought of Sherlock. _

_"_ _They really are," he disagreed. "You just don't know the answers because you're so STUPID!" I cringed and looked away from him._

 _"_ _Maybe I should have taken someone else. Sherlock would probably thank me for getting rid of_ _ **you**_ _." I closed my eyes as a few tears slipped down my cheeks…_

I jerked awake and looked around in a panic. There was a noise from the kitchen and I scrambled off the sofa but instantly regretted moving so fast. I groaned in pain and Sherlock leaned into the living room.

"Did I wake you?" he asked.

"N—No," I gasped as my ribs throbbed. "Nightmare. What're you doing?" I walked stiffly into the kitchen and saw he had a blow torch and a jar of eyeballs on the table.

"Experiment," he said simply.

"Not gonna ask," I decided. I sat down at the table and watched him work on holding the eyeballs to the flame of the blow torch.

"What was it about?" he asked after a while.

"Hm?" I answered as I raised my head from my hand. I'd been absorbed in watching him to the point where I was in daze.

"You're nightmare," he clarified. "What was it about?" He was watching me closely so I wouldn't be able to get away with anything but the truth.

"Moriarty." Sherlock turned off the blow torch and sat down across from me. I flashed back to Moriarty sitting across from me and stood up.

"Can we go sit in the other room?" I requested. "I might need to lie down." Sherlock nodded slightly.

"Of course." I knew he had noted my reaction and was thankful that he hadn't asked about it. Once we were settled in the living room he focused on me again.

"What didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"About what?" I pretended not to know what he was talking about and did a piss poor job at it.

"You know what," he snapped. I barely stopped myself from flinching as I thought of how Moriarty would have hit me for that answer and probably a second time for making him angry. But Sherlock wasn't Moriarty. Thank god for that.

"It doesn't matter," I said quietly.

"Of course it matters!" Sherlock's voice was sharp. I bit my lip and looked at the floor. There was a pause before I felt Sherlock lean toward me.

"Look at me Reilen," he commanded and I raised my eyes to meet he gaze. "I need to know what you're not telling me."

"He wanted to drive you out of my head," I told him even as part of my brain was actively resisting saying anything. "I thought I heard you telling me to wake up after he knocked me out with that gas and Moriarty said that you do that, get in people's heads."

"Did he manage it?" Sherlock wanted to know.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "I really don't."

"Did he say why he took you?"

"Because he wanted to use me to tear you apart." Sherlock blinked in confusion.

"I don't understand," he said in that baffled tone he used when John or I told him something about human nature that he thought was pointless.

"He would have taken John," I explained. "But I'm a girl and he wanted to use that against you." Understanding flashed through Sherlock's eyes.

"The pictures," he murmured. I nodded.

"My being a girl was how he got me to agree to play his game," I added. Sherlock cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, clearly not understanding.

"I didn't have to play," I admitted fidgeting with embarrassment. "But he said if I didn't—if I didn't he was going to amuse himself in _other_ ways." Sherlock let out a disgusted snort.

"That's so— _common_ ," he scoffed. "I didn't think Moriarty would ever consider something like that."

"He said I was ordinary and boring," I continued dropping my eyes to the floor again. "He said you'd get tired of me because I'm so stupid. And I know I am—I know that. And I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" he asked.

"For being so stupid." Sherlock waved away my apology.

"Practically everyone is," he reminded me. "But you're wrong. You're not as stupid as Moriarty thinks you are. You're nowhere _near_ as smart as I am but you're quite clever." A small smile turned up the corners of my mouth. That was as close to a compliment as I was going to get with Sherlock.


	4. See You Soon

Chapter 4: See You Soon

About two weeks after being released from the hospital John said I was well enough to out. There was a street fair being held at the nearby park so John decided that we should go. With some prodding, John convinced Sherlock to come along as well.

The park was crowded and noisy. It made me feel jittery but I tried to keep a handle on my nervousness. I could handle a trip to the park. Nothing was going to happen to me. Someone bumped into me and I cringed closer to Sherlock. He glanced at me.

"Are you all right?" he asked. I nodded and shuffled away from him.

' _I'm fine,_ ' I reminded myself. ' _Nothing's wrong._ ' Sherlock moved to the other side of me so that I was between him and John which made me feel much better.

We poked around the different stalls looking at all the things for sale. John tried to talk Sherlock into a new painting for the flat but Sherlock wouldn't pick one that they both could agree on.

"Can we look over there?" I requested pointing to a stall that sold rocks and crystals. The guys nodded and we headed over. I examined the different crystals, picking some up and testing how they felt in my hand. John wandered away to look at a different stall.

"You don't actually believe in this sort of thing, do you?" Sherlock asked as he squinted at the rocks.

"What sort of thing?" I replied as I picked up a piece of green fluorite that was cut into the shape of an eight sided die. It was just the right size to fiddle with.

"Crystals being magical and all that," he said. I shook my head.

"I just think they're pretty." There had been a time when I was younger that I had believed in the magical properties of crystals and things but I had since outgrown it.

"Find something you like?" the woman running the stall asked as she came over to me.

"Yes, actually." I held up the fluorite. "How much for this?"

"Four quid," she replied. I reached into the pocket of my coat for my wallet but Sherlock was already handing her the money.

"Thank you," she said cheerfully. "Enjoy."

"You didn't have to do that," I said to him as we walked away. "I had the money."

"I know." He was looking straight ahead but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. John joined us holding a package of homemade biscuits.

"What's that?" he nodded to the fluorite which I was turning over and over in my hand.

"Fluorite," I answered. "Sherlock bought it for me." John blinked in surprise.

"You did?" he questioned Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes and began walking away.

"Let's not make a big deal out of nothing," he ordered. "I think I've had enough of this for the day. Shall we return to the flat?" John and I exchanged smiles and hurried to catch up to Sherlock. I clutched the fluorite tightly in my fist. The color was exactly like Sherlock's eyes which is why I had wanted it in the first place. Sherlock made me feel safe. It would be like a piece of him with me all the time now.

* * *

We reached the flat and John set about making lunch since it was well past time to eat. I sat down on the sofa and watched as Sherlock picked up his violin and began playing. At the sound of footsteps I turned and saw Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs.

"There you all are," she said. "Did you have a nice time at the park?"

"It was fine," Sherlock replied dismissively.

"I bought some homemade biscuits," John told her. "They look like they'll be good. I was just making lunch. Care to join us?"

"That'd be lovely," she decided. Sherlock went back to playing his violin and I settled back against the sofa. My mobile beeped signaling a text message. I fished it out of my pocket. The number was blocked but I opened it anyway.

\- - See you soon little mouse – JM

The mobile slipped from my fingers which felt as though they had gone numb. Sherlock turned at the sound of my mobile hitting the floor and stopped playing.

"Reilen?" he questioned.

"Is she all right?" John asked as he came in from the kitchen. Sherlock strode over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. I flinched violently and he pulled his hand back.

"What is it?" he asked.

"He—he's coming," I gasped. Sherlock gave me a puzzled look and picked up my mobile. He read the text and his grip on my mobile tightened.

"Who's coming?" John wanted to know. "Sherlock?" Sherlock glanced over at him and relaxed his grip on my mobile.

"Moriarty sent Reilen a text," he replied. "He says he'll see her soon." John looked furious.

"If that bastard comes within a hundred yards of her I'll kill him!" he shouted.

"Unless he's only saying that to scare her," Sherlock pointed out. "And has no intention of doing anything of the sort." John shook his head angrily.

"Still," he insisted. "We have to keep him away from her."

"Obviously," Sherlock snapped.

"Should we phone Lestrade?" John suggested. Sherlock scrunched up his nose clearly against the idea.

"What good would he do?" he demanded. "Tell us to keep an eye on her? There's nothing else to be done about it right now." John nodded and went back to making lunch. Sherlock was watching me, waiting for a reaction. I tried to calm myself down but I could feel the panic choking me. I felt bile surge up the back of the throat and I bolted into the bathroom. I gaged, heaved, and emptied what was left of my breakfast into the toilet. There was a soft knock at the bathroom door.

"Rei?" John's voice called. "Are you okay? Can I come in?" I collapsed back against the bathtub and drew in a shaky breath. The panic wasn't subsiding. I was starting to hyperventilate.

"Rei?" John called again. He opened the door and peeked into the bathroom. Concern flashed across his face and he rushed in. I couldn't calm my breathing and black spots were starting to dance across my vision. John put his hands on either side of my head and leaned in so that all I could see was him. His hands were warm against my cheeks and he wiped at my tears with his thumbs. I hadn't even realized that I was crying. I closed my eyes and tried to go to my mind palace to calm down but I was too worked up and I couldn't focus.

"Rei, look at me," John ordered calmly. "Rei, you need to look at me." I shook my head and tried to get to my mind palace again.

"Reilen!" John insisted. "Look at me! You're all right. Everything's fine." I shook my head again. It wasn't all right. Moriarty was coming for me.

"John," Sherlock's voice said calmly. "You're crowding her." I felt John turn back toward the bathroom door.

"Sherlock, she's having a panic attack," he snapped. "She needs to calm down."

"Move," Sherlock ordered. John's hands disappeared from my face and were replaced by Sherlock's cool, long-fingered hands.

"Reilen," he said in that same calm voice. "Enough of this. Calm down."

"Sherlock!" John snapped. "That's not going to help!" Sherlock shushed him and I felt him lean toward me.

"Reilen, go to your mind palace," he instructed. "Find something to calm you down."

"I—I can't," I whimpered. "I—I c—can't—can't focus." Sherlock sighed and I could picture him rolling his eyes up into his head and closing his eyelids with that exasperated look he got on his face when Anderson was speaking.

' _He's getting tired of me,_ ' I thought sadly. ' _I can't do anything right. He's not going to keep putting up with this._ ' Of course I had no idea if he actually had that expression on his face and I certainly didn't know what he was thinking about me.

"All right," he allowed. "What calms you down?" Instantly I thought of the room in my mind palace with the window and Sherlock playing his violin.

"You're—you're violin music," I told him. His hands vanished from my face and I heard him leave the room. A moment later his footsteps returned and violin music filled the small space. As he continued to play I felt my breathing slow and my body relaxed. I opened my eyes and saw him crouching in front of me playing his violin. He played the last notes of the song and looked at me.

"Better?" he asked. I nodded and got to my feet.

"Thank you," I mumbled feeling embarrassed. He nodded and turned to leave.

"Come on John," he ordered. "Let her get cleaned up." Both of them left me alone. I ran cold water over my face and rinsed the taste of vomit from my mouth.

Back in the kitchen I joined John, Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson for lunch.

"You don't have to worry, Rei," John said as he passed around the sandwiches he had made. "We'll keep Moriarty away from you."

"Right," I agreed even though we all knew that if Moriarty wanted to get to me then nothing was going to stop him.

"And if you need to talk about what happened—" John began.

"Can we talk about something else?" I asked. "I don't want to talk about that just yet." John nodded and we went back to eating.

"Have you got any new cases Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson inquired when the silence at the table was starting to become awkward.

"Mycroft still wants me looking into Moriarty," Sherlock replied as he finished his food. "Bit pointless since he won't let me find anything until he wants me to."

"Then why did you get so excited when he gave you that file?" John pointed out.

"I assumed any plan he had would be more thrilling than our usual cases. I wasn't expecting him to kidnap Reilen." I glanced up and saw that they were all watching me.

"I'm fine," I muttered.

"I'm going to call Mycroft," John said as he stood up.

" _Why_?" Sherlock complained. John frowned at him and pointed at me.

"Moriarty might be on his way here to come after her again," he snapped. "Mycroft can have someone watching the flat in case he shows up!"

"So could Lestrade," Sherlock noted. John rolled his eyes and walked into the living room.

"I'm calling Mycroft." I knew that it was because he figured Mycroft could do more than Lestrade could ever do, what with him basically being the British government and all. I began clearing away the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen since I knew Sherlock wouldn't do it and I needed something to distract myself from thinking about Moriarty.

"He says he'll have someone watching the flat 24/7," John informed us as he came back into the kitchen.

" _Fine_ ," Sherlock groaned. "Do we have any new cases?"

* * *

It had been nearly a month since Moriarty had kidnapped me. My wrist had healed, the stab wound in my stomach had turned into a pink scar, and the bruises on my face and ribs had faded. I had gained control over my instinct to panic when we went out which was good since I would have been useless on a case and working cases with Sherlock was one of the only things that kept me from feeling like I was going to lose my mind.

* * *

"Mycroft, why _the hell_ would you cut the surveillance?" John demanded angrily. Mycroft sighed slowly like he was resisting the urge to snap at John.

"As I explained, the men used in the surveillance were needed elsewhere," he answered. "It is a matter of national importance. And Moriarty has made no further efforts to contact Reilen after that single text. There's no reason for me to think he's going to do anything at this point."

"It's fine John," I said quietly. John threw up his hands in anger.

"No it's not!" he shouted. "He's out there! Moriarty's out there and he's probably waiting for the perfect time to do something!" Sherlock sighed loudly and swished his violin bow through the air, pointing it at Mycroft.

"Thank you Mycroft," he said brusquely. "We've got things to do today. You can go now." Mycroft stood and nodded to John.

"I am pleased you're feeling better, Reilen," he said to me.

"Thanks Mycroft," I replied. He left the flat and Sherlock jumped up from his chair.

"We've got work to do," he said. "C'mon, let's go." I flopped back against the sofa and groaned tiredly.

"Can I stay behind?" I asked. "I'm beat." Sherlock and John exchanged glances.

"Reilen, that might not be the best—" John began.

"I'll be fine," I cut in. "Like Mycroft said, Moriarty hasn't even texted me in nearly a month. It's fine. I'm fine."

"What'd you think, Sherlock?" John asked him.

"I'm exhausted," I pointed out. "Wouldn't be much use on a case and you have better things to do than babysit me all day." Sherlock seemed to consider these two arguments before he shrugged.

"She can stay here," he decided. "Call if you need anything. Mrs. Hudson is downstairs. C'mon John."

"Irene Adler got in here twice without Mrs. Hudson ever even knowing!" John cried clearly thinking that Moriarty was certainly more than capable of getting around our landlady. "Sherlock—"

"Everything will be fine," Sherlock snapped as he steered John out the door. I waved goodbye and settled down on the sofa for a nap.

* * *

Something brushed lightly across my forehead, smoothing down a stray hair. Still mostly asleep, I figured it was John; Sherlock didn't make a habit of doing things like that as far as I knew. I shifted to get more comfortable and mumbled something incoherent. A hand cupped the side of my face and I groaned grumpily. Now I was starting to wake up.

"John, sod off," I grumbled. "M'fine." There was weight on my legs. Someone was sitting on me.

' _Not John!_ ' my brain cried. My eyes snapped open and I brought my hands up to hit whoever was on me in the face.

"Ah ah ah," an Irish voice sneered. A voice that haunted my nightmares.

"Mrs. Hud—" I began to scream. Moriarty clamped a hand over my mouth and pulled a syringe from his jacket pocket. He pulled the cap off with his teeth and spat it across the room.

"It's all right, Reilen," he said as he pierced the skin on my elbow with the needle. "I'm not taking you anywhere just yet. And this won't hurt you." He injected the drug into my blood stream and my muscles relaxed. Moriarty uncovered my mouth.

"Sherlock…help…" I groaned weakly. Moriarty chuckled and climbed off of me.

"Soon, Reilen, soon I'm going to have _so much_ fun with you," he promised. "But for now I'll just do something small." He ran his hands over my body, touching me in a ways and places I never wanted him to touch. I squirmed away from him and he let me fall of the sofa, laughing at me when I tried to stand only to fall back to the floor.

"What—what is this?" I slurred at him. It wasn't Rohypnol. That had taken time but I had blacked out almost immediately after it had taken full effect. This was working right away and I could feel the blackout coming like storm clouds through my mind.

"Ketamine," Moriarty replied. "Sherlock will know what it is. He's had it before." I knew trying to stand up wasn't going to work so I settled for trying to crawl away. Moriarty laughed and caught me by the back of my shirt.

"Not so fast little mouse. I've got to get you ready for Sherlock and John." He yanked on my shirt so that I was pulled backwards and slammed against the sofa. He sat down on the sofa and picked up the shoulder length braid I had woven my hair into that morning. He played with it for a minute before slowly twisting it around his hand, tighter and tighter, until I whimpered from the pain of my hair being nearly pulled from my scalp.

"Can't have you trying to run off," he told me. "There're decisions I have to make. And I have to make them quickly." My body was starting to feel heavy but I couldn't drop my head because of the way he held my hair. I fought to stay awake. I couldn't pass out like this, with Moriarty still here.

"Just…just…go…" I pleaded. "I…won't…tell…Sher—Sherlock…" Moriarty chuckled and gave my braid a sharp tug.

"But I want him to know," he replied. "I'm just having trouble deciding where to put you. I thought perhaps Sherlock's room, wouldn't that be funny? But there's a chance that if I put you in bed with no one around who knows you're drugged you'll choke on your own vomit."  
"M'not…nauseous…"

"And you might not vomit, it's _only_ a possibility and I can't have you dying yet, Reilen, it would spoil everything. The other choice is the stairs. It's less fun. I rather like the thought of Sherlock coming in and seeing you like this in _his bed_ of all places. But I guess it'll have to do." He released my braid and lifted me off the floor. He was a good eight inches taller than I was so he didn't seem to have any trouble carrying me over to the staircase. He set me on the second step down from the landing, in front of the door to the living room, and began tying my wrists to the banister. When he'd finished he cocked his head and studied me.

"Better tie your upper body up too," he mused before tying a rope around my ribs and attaching it to the support rails on the banister. "Can't have you falling down the stairs now can we?" My head rolled forward and I slumped against the railing. I couldn't hold off passing out any longer. Moriarty noticed and smiled in that disturbingly kind way he had.

"Nighty-night little mouse," he whispered. "Until next time." As I blacked out I felt him kiss the side of my head and a shiver went down my spine.

* * *

I drifted in and out of consciousness. Each time I opened my eyes I felt like I was spinning and falling. The sound of the front door opening caused me to jerk awake but I could already feel myself blacking out again.

"It was simple," Sherlock's voice was saying as he and John came up the stairs. "Of course it didn't take long to figure out."

"Okay, well I'm still confused about it," John replied. "I have no idea how— _oh my god_." He and Sherlock stopped in front of me, both of them staring at me in utter shock.

"What the hell happened!?" John cried as he began untying me. I blinked hard, trying to focus long enough to answer.

"Moarty." Was my slurred response.

"What?" John finished untying me and studied me intently for a minute "Jesus, she's drugged!" He turned to Sherlock who hadn't moved from his spot on the stairs. He continued to watch me and even as drugged as I was I could see the wheels spinning in his head, connecting all the dots, figuring out what I had been drugged with and why I was tied to the stairs.

"Mrs. Hudson!" He called loudly making John and me jump.

"What's the matter, Sherlock?" her voice called back from the hallway leading to her apartment.

"Nothing," he lied. "Just wanted to make sure you were here."

"Of course I'm here! Where else would I be?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Nevermind!" he replied.

"Sherlock, let's get her inside," John said. Sherlock nodded and helped John get me into the living room.

"Who did this?" John demanded.

"John, you _know_ who did this," Sherlock snapped.

"I'was Moarty," I said as I slumped against the back of the sofa.

"Reilen, you're not making any sense," John informed me. I took a deep breath and focused all my energy into making my tongue form the correct syllables.

" _Mor-i-ar-ty_ ," I repeated slowly. "It was Moriarty." John gaped at me.

"Of course it was," Sherlock agreed. "Who else would it have been?"

"I told you he could get in here!" John shouted at Sherlock. "I told you it wasn't safe to leave her behind!"

"It's only Ketamine, John," Sherlock explained. "It'll wear off in a few hours; she'll sleep like a baby until then. She's _fine_." I nodded along with what Sherlock was saying. Moriarty had said he would know what the drug was because he'd had it before. And sleep sounded like a wonderful idea.

"I like sleep," I mumbled.

"See?" Sherlock asked John. "She's fine."

"That's all well and good," John snapped back. "But what about the fact that Moriarty got in and out of here without Mrs. Hudson even knowing _again_? And what about the fact that he broke in here _the same day_ that Mycroft decided to stop having us under surveillance? He's been watching us this whole time!"

"Of course he has," Sherlock said. "He's found a new game to play."

"This is Reilen's _life_ we're talking about!" John shouted. "Not some bloody game!" I watched the argument between the two of them like I was watching a tennis match. My head moved back and forth each time one of them spoke. On some level I was terrified by what they were saying but the rest of me was too drugged up to care.

"John," Sherlock sighed. "If Moriarty wanted to take Reilen, he would have. If he wanted her dead, she'd be dead. He's _toying_ with us. He wants us to get all riled up. Don't give him the satisfaction." John's face went red as he tried to contain his anger.

"Sherlock—" he stopped abruptly and stomped from the living room. His footsteps pounded up the stairs before his bedroom door slammed shut.

"You made him mad," I pointed out dreamily. "You shouldn't do that. He's worried." Sherlock rolled his eyes at me and headed into the kitchen.

"Go to sleep Reilen," he snapped.

"Fine," I agreed in that same dreamy tone. I stood up, deciding that I would go sleep in my bed downstairs. Unfortunately, I was still incredibly drugged and I managed to trip over the coffee table in front of the sofa.

"Oh for god's sake," Sherlock complained as he walked back into the living room upon hearing me hit the floor.

" _Ow_ ," I groaned sitting up and rubbing my head. "Forgot there's a table there." Sherlock came over and stood in front of me.

"What are you doing?" he questioned.

"I'm going downstairs." I gestured toward the open door. "To sleep in the spare room." Sherlock shook his head and pulled me to my feet.

"You won't be able make it down the stairs with the Ketamine still in your system," he reasoned.

"I'm sick of sleeping on the sofa," I whined tiredly. "And John's all mad so I can't go upstairs."

"Stairs are off limits to you!" Sherlock said sharply. I huffed and crossed my arms petulantly.

"Well I'm not sleeping on the sofa," I grumped. "Doubt _you_ want to blow up the lilo." Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh and gestured to the hallway on the other side of the kitchen.

"Then sleep in my room." I blinked at him, not sure that I had heard him right. He hardly ever let me go in there.

"What?" I asked.

"My room, Reilen," he replied. "Go sleep in my room."

"Okay," I said slowly. I started walking toward his room and promptly tripped over my own feet. Sherlock caught me before I hit the floor.

"You're completely helpless," he commented as he lifted me into his arms. I gasped in shock at suddenly being scooped off my feet. A wave of dizziness swept over me and my arms clamped tightly around Sherlock's shoulders.

"I'm not going to drop you," he told me.

"I—I'm just dizzy," I responded.

"Close your eyes. It'll help." I did as he instructed and the dizziness faded a bit. My arms relaxed and I let my head drop onto his shoulder.

"Better?" he asked and I could feel his voice vibrate through his chest into my ear.

"Better," I murmured. He started walking and I only opened my eyes when I felt him lay me on the bed. Sherlock threw a blanket over me as I rolled onto my side and looked up at him.

"Get some rest," he said as he turned to leave. "It'll be out of your system in a few hours."

"He said I could choke on my vomit," I replied.

"Do you feel nauseous?"

"Mnh-mnh," I mumbled feeling the drug start to pull me back under again.

"Then you'll be fine." He turned to leave again but I reached out and grabbed his hand, desperately trying to stay awake so I could say what I needed to say before I fell asleep and forgot.

"Sher—Sherlock," I stammered. His eyes flicked over to me and he paused, waiting for me continue.

"He touched me—he made me feel—" I could feel tears slipping down my cheeks but my face felt numb. I felt like my brain was trying to go numb as well. Sherlock turned so that he was facing me completely.

"Made you feel what?" he prompted.

"Dirty," I said in a tiny voice. "The way he—he touched me…"

"Do we need to take you to Barts?" he asked. "And have you examined?" I shook my head slightly.

"There's…nothing to examine."

"You should sleep then. I doubt you'll remember much when you wake up. Drugs are funny that way." He gently extracted his hand from my grip and moved to the door.

"But Sherlock," I insisted. "He said he had plans for me. That he was coming back for me."  
"It's all part of his game, Reilen," he reminded me. "One I'm not willing to play." With that he walked from the room and shut the door behind him. I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders and finally let the drug knock me out again.

* * *

" _You look so cute when you're sleeping,_ " Moriarty's silky voice whispered in my ear. I jerked into a sitting position and looked around disoriented and confused as to where I was.

' _Sherlock's room?_ ' I thought foggily. ' _Why am I in Sherlock's room?_ ' And I had heard Moriarty. Where was he? Was he here? Were Sherlock and John hurt? I scrambled off the bed and rushed into the living room.

"Sherlock!?" I called in a panic. "John!?" Sherlock looked up from his chair and John turned around in his chair to face me.

"Reilen, what's the matter?" John asked. My eyes darted between them and then around the room, searching for anything out of place. Searching for any sign of Moriarty.

"He was here," I said.

"Who?" John asked.

"Moriarty!" I snapped. "He was here."

"Yes but that was hours ago. You've been asleep since the afternoon. It's nearly ten 'o'clock now." I blinked several times and shook my head.

"No!" I argued. "He was here _now_! Just now, in Sherlock's room, I heard—"

"It's just a side effect from the Ketamine," John assured me. Sherlock snorted.

"The Woman got in here after she gave me Ketamine to return my coat and you never noticed." John frowned at Sherlock.

"I'm trying to keep her calm," he snapped. "Not get her all worked up."

"Right, of course," Sherlock agreed. "Moriarty isn't here. Everything's fine." I took a few deep breathes to calm down and nodded to myself.

' _Everything's fine,_ ' I thought. ' _They wouldn't be so calm if it wasn't._ '

"Maybe I should just go back to bed," I suggested. I was still rather tired and extra sleep couldn't hurt if it meant ensuring that I had slept off all of the Ketamine.

"Good idea," John replied with a smile. "Get some rest and we'll see you in the morning." Sherlock picked up a book and began reading.

"'Night," I said.

"'Night," John replied. Sherlock didn't answer but that was typical so I turned to go downstairs.

"Sleep in my room," Sherlock's voice stopped me from leaving the living room. I turned back to him and saw the look of surprise on John's face.

"I can make it down the stairs now, I think," I pointed out. "And you've got to sleep somewhere."  
"I've got things to do," he informed me. "And will be up all night in all likelihood. So there's no reason for you to go downstairs."

"All right," I said still very confused over his behavior. I couldn't tell if he wanted me to stay in his room because he was worried about any Ketamine still in my system or if it was because he didn't want me downstairs and further away from him and John. I never knew much when it came to Sherlock.

"'Night," I said again.

"Pleasant dreams," Sherlock answered. I headed back into his room and snuggled under the covers. The covers smelled like Sherlock, like his cologne. It had a citrus-y scent, like oranges, with mint, geraniums, sandalwood, and a cool earthy scent all mixed together. I inhaled the scent deeply and felt my whole body relax.

 _"_ _Do you love Sherlock?"_ Moriarty's voice drifted through my mind and I shut my eyes tightly. I didn't want to think about that. I had fantasized many times about being in Sherlock's room, lying in his bed. Now I had what I wanted but it was only because something awful had happened. And Sherlock didn't know how I felt. I could never tell him. Not after the things Moriarty had said about it. Not after the things he had done. If he did anything more, and I had every reason to believe that he would, I would probably never tell Sherlock the truth about my feelings. I could live with that, couldn't I? I would be okay keeping things the way they were.

I sighed, pulled the covers closer to my face, and drifted off to sleep.


	5. Meet Your Master

Chapter 5: Meet Your Master

 _Sherlock was driving me insane_. He had started hovering to the point where it was almost as bad as John. I understood that he was worried and I also understood that he would most likely never say that. He would pretend that he was "checking" my progress on a case or "double checking" my theories at the end like I didn't know how to use my mind palace. But I could see that all of that was an excuse to watch me. He was constantly doing that thing where he looked at me and analyzed everything about me. It was infuriating.

* * *

"Can you stop that?" I demanded looking up from my laptop. John was out so I was sitting in his chair across from Sherlock. Sherlock blinked.

"Stop what?"

"You're doing that thing again. I can see it on your face."

"What thing?" he snapped. "I'm not doing anything."

"You're analyzing me," I snapped back. "I can see it." Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and turned to the mirror.

"It's just my face," he said.

"Yes, and it's doing the thing," I told him.

"John says that as well," he replied.

"No, John tells you when you're giving him the 'we-both-know-what's-going-on-here' look. _I'm_ telling you that your face is doing the 'I'm-analyzing-everything-about-you' look. So stop it. If you want to know something just ask."

"Would you actually answer me?" he challenged. I paused for a minute.

"Maybe," I responded. "Depends on what you ask." Sherlock steepled fingers and studied me.

"You're frustrated." I shut my laptop and sighed.

"That's not a question," I pointed out.

"Why?" he asked. I shrugged and put my laptop on the coffee table.

"Just am," I said as I curled up on John's chair.

"At me?"

"At everything," I replied. "All the time. You're treating me like you expect me to break at any moment. John doesn't want me out of sight of either of you. And I'm frustrated at myself for being so afraid. You said not to play Moriarty's game and I don't want to but I can't help feeling afraid of everything. Waiting for him to make his next move is killing me." Sherlock considered all of this.

"It's not your fault, you know," he said. I blinked in confusion and shook my head.

"I—I never said that it was," I protested. "I don't think that." Sherlock fixed me with a hard stare.

"Reilen, please, don't bother trying to lie," he requested. "You're terrible at it. You _do_ think that. It's how your mind works. You think things are your fault even when there is no possible way that could be true. You thought I was angry at you in the hospital."

"You were," I replied with certainty. He could call it worry all he wanted. I knew what anger sounded like. He hadn't been simply worried.

"Yes," he agreed. "At _Moriarty_. Not at you." His face remained impassive but I could tell by his eyes that he meant it, that he wasn't just saying it to make me feel better. John and Lestrade always complained about how Sherlock never spared anyone's feelings. He said and did what he wanted and if your feelings were hurt then oh well. You needed a thicker skin. But I knew that wasn't true. Sherlock _did_ care about John's feelings and Mrs. Hudson's and I was pretty sure mine as well. He just didn't show it often. Caring wasn't an advantage so he tried not care much. That's what I understood from the things he and Mycroft said anyway.

"But it _was_ my fault," I contradicted him. "You told me not to go out with someone I met online. I knew better but I went anyway. I didn't die after he stabbed me. If I had then he wouldn't be doing this now." Sherlock's jaw twitched but otherwise his face didn't change.

"If he wanted you then he would have gotten to you even if you hadn't gone on that date. And he would have found some way of tormenting me or John if you had died, believe me." I pulled my knees up against my chest and rested my chin on them.

"Play you violin," I instructed. Sherlock cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.

"You're not panicking," he replied.

"No," I agreed. "I just want to hear it. Play that piece you've been working on." Sherlock smiled slightly and nodded. He stood and went to his music stand. He began playing the unfinished piece and I closed my eyes and concentrated on the music.

* * *

"Well is he coming after her again or not?" John demanded angrily. Sherlock, Mycroft, Lestrade, and I were all sitting or standing in the living room discussing Moriarty's next move but obviously John was as fed up with waiting as I was.

"We can't know that," Lestrade said. "There's no indication either way."

"Mycroft could find out," John snapped glaring at the elder Holmes. "You got him once, you can do it again."

"That was a matter of national security," Mycroft replied in a measured voice. "We had people tracking him. He's since fallen off our radar."

"Reilen's _life_ is in danger!" John shouted. "But I suppose you don't care about that, do you? You sold out your own brother for god's sake. Why would you care about Reilen?"

"I wouldn't really say he _sold me out_ ," Sherlock said "It's not as if Moriarty's done anything with the information that he was given."

"He's biding his time!" John continued to shout. Mycroft gave John a tight smile.

"Despite what you may think I do not possess the authority to authorize the manpower it would take to hunt down this particular man," he replied. "There are other pressing issues which I must attend to. Perhaps Sherlock could find him, couldn't you brother drear?" Sherlock scoffed and cocked an eyebrow at his brother.

"Really, Mycroft?" he questioned. " _You_ don't have the authority? I would have thought you could come up with a more convincing lie. As for tracking down Moriarty myself, you know as well as I do that he won't allow me to find him until he decides he wants me to."

"Sherlock, surely you can do _something_?" John pressed.

"No, John I can't!" Sherlock shouted. "There is nothing I can do! Does that make you happy?"

"Why would that make me happy?" John demanded.

"My admitting that I don't have all the answers doesn't make you happy?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course it does. You've always enjoyed when something baffles me. You write about it often enough on your blog!" I sighed and sat on the sofa putting my head in the hands.

"Guys this isn't helping," I pointed out.

"She's got a point," Lestrade agreed. "Although, _I'm_ certainly enjoying Sherlock admitting that he doesn't have an answer." We all looked at him and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Somebody has to do something," John snapped looking from Sherlock to Mycroft to Lestrade.

"There's nothing to be done," Mycroft replied calmly.

"Don't give me that shit Mycroft!" John shouted at him. "One of you figure something out!" I stood and grabbed my coat from the back of the door. I needed to get out of here. I needed some air.

"Where're you going?" John asked.

"Just out for some air," I answered as I wrapped my scarf around my neck. "I won't go far and I've got my mobile." I left the flat before any of them could stop me. Outside, I tugged on my gloves and bundled my scarf closer to my face. It was freezing with a light snow falling and sparkling in the light from the streetlamps. Winter had come early. It was only the middle of September.

I paced in front of the front steps breathing in the icy air. John could shout at the others all he wanted but we all knew that there was nothing anyone could do. A fact I was sure infuriated Sherlock. I tried to think of something we could do but was coming up with nothing. My agitation grew and I wondered if this was why Sherlock smoked—or used nicotine patches depending on the day. John had told me that he had been a drug addict as well but there was never anything stronger than tobacco in the flat.

' _I could use some drugs right now,_ ' I thought as I tried to rub the cold from my arms. Of course I had never done drugs of any kind so the thought was rather ridiculous. I turned to pace the other way and saw a man walking toward me. It was pretty late, that and the temperature meant that not many people were on the street. Several people had walked by since I had come outside but at the moment it was just me and the man on my side of the street. I turned away from him and walked back toward the flat. A car pulled up beside me and slowed to a stop. I glanced at it, backing up a few steps. A pair of arms wrapped tightly around me.

"Get in the car, sweetheart," a deep rough voice ordered. "Don't make me hurt you." I dragged my feet as he forced me over to the car. My trainers slipped on the slick pavement as I struggled against the man. His grip tightened but I managed to turn halfway around. He lost his grip on one of my arms and I brought up my arm, elbowing him in the stomach. He grunted in pain and his grip on my other arm loosened. I broke loose and ran toward the flat.

"Get back here!" he snarled. I felt him catch the back of my coat and I almost lost my balance.

" _SHERLOCK_!" I screamed. " _HELP_!"

"Shut up!" The man grabbed my scarf, pulled the front around behind my neck, and yanked on it so that it choked me. I struggled to breathe and tried to pry the scarf away but he was using it to pull me backwards to the car. I heard a door open and he forced me into the backseat. I fought against him and lost one of my gloves in the process. The car door slammed shut at the same moment that Sherlock, John, and Lestrade burst out of the flat.

" _Sherlock_!" I sobbed as I lunged for the door. The man yanked me back and the car sped away.

"Shut her up!" the driver ordered. "I ain't gonna listen to her cry the whole way!"

"Gladly," the first man replied. A needle jabbed into my arm and I felt the effects right away.

' _Ketamine again,_ ' I thought as the drug pulled me under. I collapsed against the backseat and fell into the waiting blackness.

* * *

" _You look so cute when you're sleeping_ ," Moriarty's silky voice whispered in my ear. I jerked awake, sitting straight up, and for a second I thought everything had been a dream. The last few weeks had been nothing but a delusion caused by the Ketamine. But the room was too cold to be Sherlock's. A cool stream of air blew onto my ear and I flinched. It was Moriarty, I knew that without looking.

' _Don't react like a scared animal,_ ' I told myself. ' _It will only amuse him. Don't play his games._ ' I kept my eyes focused on the wall ahead of me but in my mind I went through all the details I could about the room without looking around. The room was cold and smelled of mildew. The walls and floor were cement. I quickly flicked my eyes up and saw that the ceiling was covered in pipes. A basement then. I thought Sherlock would have been pleased with my deduction. Knowing him, he probably would have pointed out that it was obvious right away.

"What'd you want?" I asked Moriarty, still staring straight ahead. "Why're you doing this?"

"I _told_ you," he replied. "I want to use you to tear Sherlock apart." I looked at him then, glaring at him with all the anger I could muster.

"It won't work," I snapped. "He knows what you're doing and he's not going to play your game."

"If he wants you alive then he will." Moriarty reached out and stroked my hair. I stiffened under his touch and looked away.

" _Don't_ touch me," I ordered. He chuckled and removed his hand.

"Bit defiant, aren't we?" he replied. "I'll soon fix that." He dropped a folded cloth on my lap and stood up. I looked from it back to him in confusion.

"Get dressed, little mouse," he commanded. "Sherlock's going to want to see you." He walked out and I heard the door lock behind him. Now that he was gone I could examine my surroundings more thoroughly.

The room was rather large and one corner had a puddle forming under a dripping pipe. I was sitting on a dingy mattress that was lying on the floor with a thin blanket folded up at the end but no pillow. There were no windows in the room and only one heavy looking metal door. My coat, scarf, and remaining glove were nowhere to be seen and my trainers and socks were missing as well. I turned my attention to the cloth and unfolded it. It turned out to be a short sleeved dress albeit a crudely cut one. I had little choice but to change into the new outfit. I knew Moriarty's response for that kind of defiance would be something I wanted to avoid. I took off my shirt and jeans and put on the dress. The fabric was rough and scratched against my skin uncomfortably. The door opened and Moriarty reappeared.

"Come along, my dear," he instructed. "We haven't got all day." The floor was freezing on my bare feet but I tried not to show it as I walked over to the door. Moriarty led me down several hallways and into a large room with a computer, a chair, and a television screen.

"Sit," he ordered and I sat obediently. Another man walked in and Moriarty smiled at him.

"Little mouse, this is Sebastian," he introduced us. "I expect you two will get to know each other quite well." He began typing at the computer as Sebastian came to stand behind me.

"Got anything on under that, sweetheart?" he sneered in my ear and I recognized his voice. He was the man who had taken me from Baker Street. Something cold touched the side of my head.

' _A gun,_ ' I thought and I tried to calm the panic that spiked through me. The television screen lit up and I could see the inside of 221B. Sherlock was pacing around the living room, clearly agitated. John sat in his chair looking horrified and Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen preparing something to eat but it was obvious that she was crying. Lestrade was standing in the doorway. The sound came on and I heard what was going on.

"She's gone," Lestrade was saying. "Vanished. No trace of her or the car." Sherlock paced by again and I saw for the first time that he had my glove, the one I had dropped, clutched in his hand.

"He would have taken her somewhere secluded," he reasoned. "Somewhere he wouldn't be disturbed. From what she told me of the last time he kidnapped her, Moriarty has some unsavory things on his mind."

"Oh Jesus." John sighed heavily and put his head in his hands. "This can't be happening." Tears welled in my eyes at seeing the people I cared about like this. Sebastian pressed the gun harder against my skin.

"Stop that," he ordered. "We haven't even gotten started and you're gonna cry?" He cocked the gun and I let out a whimper. He was going to shoot me, I just knew it. In my mind I imagined John and Sherlock's responses to the situation.

 _"_ _Don't worry, Reilen,"_ John would have said. _"Everything's going to be all right. We're going to get you out of this."_ Sherlock's was less reassuring, as usual.

 _"_ _Don't snivel, Reilen,"_ he would have told me. _"It will do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet."_

Moriarty turned to us and frowned at Sebastian.

"You've gone and scared her," he scolded. "What did I tell you? Don't make her cry until _later_." He came over and crouched in front of me.

"There, there, little mouse," he said gently as he wiped the tears from my face. "Everything's fine. He's not going to hurt you. Well, not yet anyway." He giggled and went back to the computer. After another minute of typing a window popped up on the television showing the room we were in. Moriarty stood so that only he was visible in the window. There was a _ping_ inside the flat and Sherlock grabbed John's laptop.

"Moriarty," Sherlock ground out as his face filled the window showing the flat. "Where is she?" The angle of the laptop's window changed and John and Lestrade crowded in beside Sherlock.

"Why'd you take her!?" John demanded.

"You get so protective, Johnny Boy," Moriarty responded with a grin. "Aren't ordinary people _adorable_ , Sherlock? Since you have John, I decided to get myself a live-in one." He moved and I could see myself and Sebastian in the window.

"Reilen!" John shouted. Sebastian's hand clamped tightly on my shoulder, warning me to stay quiet. I looked from John to Sherlock with tears running down my cheeks. That was all I could manage without worrying about getting my brains blown out.

"We're going to find you, Reilen," Sherlock promised. "We will."

"Let's see how long that takes you," Moriarty sneered. "Since I'm feeling generous I'm going to set up a camera in her room so you can see her. Hope you enjoy the show boys." The screen went dark and Sebastian hauled me to my feet. Moriarty came over and stood in front of me.

"You're not just going to be my captive, little mouse," he said. "You're going to do everything I say. I've always wanted a servant." I felt my stomach drop at the dark glint in his eyes.


	6. A Special Punishment

Chapter 6: A "Special" Punishment

It had been weeks since Moriarty had kidnapped me, or at least I thought it had. I really had no way of knowing how many days had gone by and Sherlock and John had yet to burst in and save me so I figured they were at a loss as to where to look. In the meantime I did everything and anything Moriarty said. I felt like Cinderella only I knew there wouldn't be a Fairy Godmother to save me at the end.

* * *

"More tea, Master?" I asked keeping my eyes on the floor. Moriarty had forbidden me from using his name.

"No," Moriarty snapped glancing at me with irritation from his desk where he was hunched over something. "Go find something to clean."

"Yes Master." I put the tea tray down on the nearby coffee table and scurried from the room. Moriarty never used my name. I was always 'little mouse' or nothing at all. Sebastian called me 'girl' and nothing else. I hadn't heard my own name since the day Moriarty had contacted John and Sherlock. I grabbed my cleaning supplies from beside the door and went to the kitchen to finish cleaning the stove. I'd been in the middle of that when Moriarty had demanded that I bring him his afternoon tea.

I scrubbed at the stove top trying to focus on getting the grime off to keep myself from feeling the pain in my ribs. Sebastian had kicked me awake this morning and Moriarty had given me a thorough beating for breaking a cup last night. I stopped scrubbing and sat down with my back against the oven. I was exhausted. I just needed a minute to rest. That was all. Just one minute.

* * *

"Wake up, girl!" Sebastian's order was followed by a slap in the face. I startled awake and banged my head against the stove.

"Sleeping on the job, eh?" he sneered at me. "Let's see what the Boss has to say about that!" He yanked me to my feet and dragged me into Moriarty's study.

"What could you possible want _now_ , Sebastian?" Moriarty demanded as he turned in his chair to face us. "I just told you not to bother me."

"Caught the girl sleeping in the kitchen," Sebastian replied shoving me to the floor in front of Moriarty. "Thought you'd wanna know." Moriarty raised an eyebrow and a small smirk crossed his lips.

"Is that so?" he asked coolly.

"I—I'm sorry, Master," I stammered. "It—it was a mistake."

"I should say so," he chuckled. "Take her to her room, Sebastian. I have a very _special_ punishment for her." Sebastian dragged me down to the basement and locked me in my room.

* * *

I paced restlessly around the small space near my bed, glancing up at the camera in the corner every few seconds. I had figured out that unless Moriarty repositioned the camera its range only covered the area near my bed. I didn't know if Sherlock and John were watching but if I pretended that they could see me I felt better. I went to the mattress that served as my bed and reached under it. The piece of fluorite that Sherlock had given me was hidden underneath. I had had the presence of mind to hide it when I had changed into the dress Moriarty had given me. I hadn't seen any of my old clothes since I had changed. Who knew what would have happened to it? I held the stone up to the dim light and saw the color of Sherlock's eyes shining at me. I sighed and clutched it in my fist tightly before hiding it again.

* * *

The door opened and Moriarty walked in. I scrambled to my feet, careful to keep my eyes on the floor.

"Master, I—I'm sorry for falling asleep," I told him. "Please. I hadn't meant to." Moriarty didn't respond. Instead I heard the whisper of silk being pulled against cloth. I glanced up and saw that he was taking off his tie. Next, he took off his suit jacket, folded it, and put it on the table. I clenched my fists to stop the trembling in my hands.

' _This can't be happening,_ ' I thought desperately. ' _God not this. Anything but this!_ '

"Get on your hands and knees, little mouse," he ordered. I sank down in front of him. My arms and legs were shaking so badly that I didn't think they would hold me up.

"Face the other way," he barked. I flinched and turned quickly so that my back was to him. I heard the clink of his belt and I shut my eyes. There was a _thwack_ and my back exploded with pain. I cried out and fell against the mattress. I hadn't been expecting _this_.

"Are you watching Sherlock!?" Moriarty shouted as he hit me again and again. "Or have you decided she's not worth it!?" I heard his belt hit the floor and I held my breath, holding in my tears until he left. Only he didn't. I was too afraid to look to see what he was doing but he was moving around and then I felt his weight on the mattress. He leaned over my back, pressing himself against me.

"I think it's time I _really_ broke you in," he whispered in my ear. I cringed away from his hot breath.

"Please," I whimpered. "Please _don't_." Moriarty tsked and I felt him shove my dress up my back and yank down my underwear.

"You know begging will get you nowhere," he reminded me. "But go ahead if it makes you feel better. I rather enjoy the sound of it." His fingers dug into my hips and I sucked in a breath, waiting. When he slammed into me I thought I would black out from the pain. I couldn't breathe for a minute and Moriarty wasn't giving me any time to acclimate to the situation. Each thrust seemed to be harder than the last. I meant to beg him to stop but all I could do was sob.

' _Why doesn't he just kill me?_ ' I wondered as I screwed my eyes shut against the pain. ' _I'd rather be dead than continue with this._ ' Moriarty let out a growl and released me. I lay still, pressing my face against the mattress. I could hear him getting dressed again.

"Were you watching Sherlock?" Moriarty asked in a pleasant tone. "How about you, Johnny Boy?" I turned my head and saw that he was on his phone, smiling up at the camera.

"Oh you were?" Moriarty chirped. "Good! Did you know she was a virgin? No, you _can't_ speak to her, Sherlock. That will undo all my hard work. Well you're just going to have to find her, now won't you? Ta-ta." He hung up and turned back to me.

"What do you have to say?" he demanded, giving me an icy look.

"I'm sorry for falling asleep," I whispered. "I won't do it again."

"I know you won't." He collected his jacket and tie and finally left me alone. I sat up stiffly and readjusted my dress. I could see a smear of blood on my thighs and I shivered as I used the hem of my dress to wipe it away. I curled into a ball on the mattress and cried myself to sleep.


	7. Thanksgiving

Chapter 7: Thanksgiving

More weeks had gone by since that night. I'd been Moriarty's captive for over a month. That seemed right. A long time, anyway. He gave me a "special" punishment several times a week and Sebastian had started to join in as well. That was the second worst part of all this. I could almost deal with it if it were just Moriarty but having both of them do that to me was breaking me faster than I think Moriarty intended. But the worst part, the _absolute worst_ part of all of this was that I knew Sherlock and John could see what was happening. I didn't want them to know about this part. And I knew they were trying to save me but it was taking so long that I was starting to feel angry at them for not saving me before Moriarty had decided to start his "special" punishments.

* * *

"Get up girl," Sebastian ordered from the doorway. "The Boss wants you." I struggled to stand, my whole body protesting as the newest bruises and cuts throbbed. I hadn't been asleep for very long so I couldn't understand why I was being summoned. Usually, Moriarty at least let me sleep until morning.

I trudged after Sebastian, rubbing sleep from my eyes as he led me down the hall. He led me to the bathroom where a fresh dress was laid out along with a clean bra, a clean pair of underwear, and a towel.

"I—I thought he—Master wanted to see me," I said in confusion. Sebastian smacked me across the face.

' _Speaking out of turn,_ ' I reprimanded myself. ' _Stupid! What's wrong with you!?_ '

"Wants you to have a shower first," Sebastian snapped. "So get to it. Don't keep him waiting." He shut the door and I stripped off my dirty clothes, leaving them in a pile near the door. I turned on the hot water and slipped into the shower. For several minutes I just stood under the stream of water and enjoyed the feeling of it running over my skin. Moriarty didn't allow me to shower nearly as often as I would have liked and when he did they always had to be cold. I had missed hot showers so much that I didn't even care why I was allowed to take one now. There was even a razor so that I could shave.

"Maybe he's letting me go!" I said quietly trying to stop from feeling too hopeful. I washed up, shaved, and then began washing me hair. I tried to drag out the shower for as long as I could but not so long that I got in trouble.

Finally, I knew I had to get out. Otherwise Sebastian would storm in and who knows what would happen then. I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. The towel that had been left for me was fluffy and soft and I relished the feel of it against my skin as I dried off. I put on my clean clothes and opened the door, peeking into the hallway. Sebastian was leaning against the opposite wall and he straightened up when he saw me.

"Did you brush your teeth?" he asked. I hesitated as I opened the door completely.

"Was I supposed to?" I questioned, furrowing my brow as I tried to think if he had mentioned it.

"'Course you're supposed to!" he snapped looking annoyed.

"There wasn't a toothbrush or—or toothpaste," I replied. Sebastian stormed over to me and pointed at the sink. There, sitting by the faucet, was a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste.

" _Really_?" he sneered. "I thought Holmes used you on cases? Seem pretty stupid to me." I felt my face flush with humiliation as I reached out and picked up the toothbrush and toothpaste. It felt good to brush my teeth. It was another thing I didn't get to do often enough.

When I was done Sebastian led me out of the basement and up to the main part of the—house—complex—wherever we were. At the door to Moriarty's room he gestured for me to go in alone. I stepped inside and he closed the door, leaving me alone. Moriarty's room was actually several rooms in one. There was a sitting area, where I was standing, a study, and then his bedroom.

"Reilen?" Moriarty's voice called. "Is that you?" I blinked at hearing him call me by my name.

"Uh—um—yes, Master," I called back.

"Come in here," he requested. I headed into his study and found him sitting at his desk.

"You wanted to see me, Master?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the floor. He turned and stood up.

"You can look at me," he said. I looked up and was taken aback by his outfit. He always wore suits. Light ones, dark ones, it didn't matter. But now he was in faded blue jeans and a loose fitting cream shirt under a maroon jacket with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair was a tousled mess and he had stubble across his chin and upper lip. I blinked at him several times. I had never seen him like this.

"You—you wanted to see me?" I stammered. He smiled kindly and for once it wasn't the least bit disturbing.

"I wanted to talk with you," he replied. "Come with me." He led me back to the sitting room where a small table had been laid out with plates, glasses, and silverware. He gestured for me to sit and I sank uncertainly into the chair.

' _What's going on?_ ' I wondered wearily as I watched him pour water into our glasses. ' _What's he up to?_ ' Sebastian came in with a tray of food. He placed one bowl in front of me and the other in front of Moriarty. The bowls were full of thick stew. Chunks of beef, carrots, potatoes, and peas floated in gravy. A piece of buttered bread sat by each bowl.

"Thank you, Seb," Moriarty said pleasantly. "That'll be all for now." Sebastian nodded and left again. I looked at my lap and rubbed the fabric of my dress between my fingers as Moriarty began eating.

"You're not eating," he noted around a mouthful of food. I looked up expecting him to be angry but was met with just a concerned stare.

"I'm—um—not hungry," I mumbled. Moriarty gave me a disapproving look.

"I know _that's_ not true," he responded. "You've hardly had anything to eat since you've been here. You've lost quite a bit of weight. Now eat up!" I looked from him to the food in front of me. This was a test or a trick. It had to be. Moriarty was never _kind_.

Hesitantly, I picked up my spoon and began eating. I barely managed to hold back an appreciative sigh. The food was amazing! I couldn't think of the last time I'd eaten something so delicious.

"Good, isn't it?" he asked. "Seb is a fabulous cook. Not that you'd know it by looking at him." I nodded and chewed slowly.

"Why are you—?" I began but thought better of the question and tried again. "Why am I—?" I couldn't make myself ask either question it seemed.

"Why am I letting you eat with me?" he finished for me. I nodded. That had been my second question. The first had to do with why he was being nice to me but I was worried that asking that particular question would make this new behavior vanish. So I kept my mouth shut.

"Well, everyone should get good food on Thanksgiving, don't you agree?" I dropped my spoon in shock.

" _Thanksgiving_?" I gasped as I stared at him. Moriarty chuckled.

"I keep forgetting that you don't know how much time has passed," he replied. "You've been mine for over two months." I felt tears well in my eyes and I bit my lip to stop from crying. Moriarty noticed this and his eyes widened.

"Oh no," he said sounding regretful. "No, no, don't cry!" I held my breath for a minute to force myself to stop from crying.

"Let's talk about Sherlock!" Moriarty suggested. "That'll make you feel better, won't it?" I didn't think it would but I knew better than to argue.

"What—what do you want to talk about?" I asked. Moriarty pondered that.

"How did you meet him?" he responded.

"Molly introduced us," I told him.

"Molly Hooper?" he asked. I nodded. Molly had introduced me to Moriarty as well although he had been "Jim from IT" then and we hadn't known he was going to turn into a psychopath. Sherlock and I had just thought he was gay. I still sort of wondered if he was, especially with how he was with Sebastian. Not that I cared about _that_. Part of me wondered if part of Moriarty's obsession with Sherlock was because he had a thing for him which honestly creeped me out. How could you like someone and then try to kill them and everyone they've ever cared about? If you liked someone you should act like it. Sometimes I wondered if Sherlock and John secretly liked each other based on the way they acted towards each other. But John had only ever had girlfriends and he was head over heels in love with Mary. Personally, _I_ didn't want them to have feelings for each other because I had feelings for Sherlock which I thought that John knew even if Sherlock didn't—or _acted_ like he didn't—I wasn't sure.

"How do you know Molly?" Moriarty asked. "You're not in the same field." I shook my head.

"We were roommates at university," I explained. "I was in pre-med with her but I didn't have the stomach for it so I double majored in Japanese and writing instead."

"And now you solve crimes with Sherlock," he concluded. "Bit useless getting those degrees, wasn't it?" I shrugged.

"Probably," I admitted. "I used to tutor Japanese and creative writing before I met Sherlock." Moriarty set aside his finished bowl of stew and leaned toward me.

"Molly loves Sherlock," he said. "I knew that from the minute I met her. She never stopped talking about him."

"I know," I replied. "But she's got a boyfriend now, Tom. He's planning on proposing soon."

"How do _you_ know?" Moriarty challenged. I allowed my lips to flick into a quick smirk.

"Sherlock and I know," I replied.

"Well that works in your favor, doesn't it? Except of course for the fact that Sherlock wouldn't notice your feelings even if you plastered them all over the flat or all over London for that matter." I frowned and poked at my stew with my spoon. I knew it was true, of course. Last Christmas, Molly had gotten all dressed up for our Christmas get together and Sherlock had been awful to her right up until he realized that the gift he was analyzing as her "boyfriend's" was actually for him. He had apologized but he had hardly acknowledged her feelings for him after that. Molly had finally given up and started dating Tom.

"How did you end up living with Sherlock and John?" Moriarty asked.

"I lost my flat," I explained with no idea why I was answering his questions. "I mean—my roommate wanted her boyfriend to move in and since I didn't, she kicked me out. I had gone to Bart's to tell Molly and I was crying about it when Sherlock and John came in."

"Couldn't you have stayed with Molly?" he questioned.

"She would have let me but she said there was no room in her flat," I answered. "That's when John suggested that I stay with them. It was all supposed to be temporary but then I started going on cases with Sherlock and ended up staying."

"You think he's given up, don't you?" he asked. I pushed aside my half eaten stew and studied the tablecloth.

"I'm sure he's working on it," I muttered. "Unless something more interesting's come up. I'd give up on me if I were him."

"I agree," Moriarty replied. "You're really not worth it. Of course Sherlock's not quite there yet. He's been following all my clues." My head snapped up and I stared at him as he smiled at me.

"Clues?" I repeated.

"Oh yes, didn't I mention?" he answered. "I've been sending him clues on where to find you. They're all false leads of course but he's still looking for you. So that's something, isn't it?" My mouth hung open as I gaped at him. I couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"He's not going to find you," Moriarty snapped when I kept staring at him. "Not until I'm ready. I plan on keeping you for quite a long time." I felt a knot form in my stomach and work its way into my chest. I knew what I had to do now. I wasn't going to be his pet anymore. I was done. I was so _beyond_ done. I closed my mouth and finished eating my stew. The food had lost all taste and forcing myself to swallow each spoonful and bite of bread was like trying to swallow rocks.

"Did you enjoy the meal?" Moriarty questioned as I ate the last bite of my bread.

"It was delicious," I answered with a nod. "Thank you." The door opened and Sebastian stepped into the room.

"Get some sleep," Moriarty instructed. "It'll be another long day tomorrow." I nodded and followed Sebastian back to my room.

Once I was alone I sat down on my bed and began tearing my blanket in half lengthwise. I was going to get out of here, one way or another, and honestly, I didn't care if it was in a body bag at this point. When the blanket was completely torn I tied the two pieces together and then tied a noose at one end. I had seen Sherlock make a noose once. His had been made out of rope which I would have preferred but I had to work with what I had. I turned to the camera and looked up at it.

"I don't know if you're watching right now," I said to it. "I don't even know if you're awake. But hopefully this records so you can watch it later. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry I got kidnapped again and that I put you both through this. Moriarty's not going to let me go and I can't take it anymore. I have to end it and this is the only way I know how. I love you both. I'm sorry." Then I went over to the table and found the nail I had stashed under it. I had found the nail while I was cleaning a few weeks ago and I had kept it even though I knew it would be useless against Moriarty or Sebastian. Using the sharp point of the nail, I dug into my finger until it bled and used the blood to scrawl 'I'm sorry' on the wall over my mattress. With that done, I dragged the table over to where the camera would be able to see and used it to reach one of the pipes in the ceiling. Even with the table I could barely reach the pipe. I tied my makeshift noose around the pipe and then slipped the noose over my head.

"I really am sorry," I said to the camera. "Goodbye John. Goodbye Sherlock." I stepped off the table and the noose tightened around my neck.


	8. No Way Out

Chapter 8: No Way Out

 _I opened my eyes and found myself in the hallway of my mind palace. I really needed to make this place more organized. My neck and throat ached and there was a pounding in my head._

 _'_ _I wonder how long it will take,' I thought as I tried to decide where I wanted to spend my last moments. The light in the hallway began to dim and the pounding in my head was replaced with a dizzy feeling._

 _"_ _This is it," I said quietly. I knew where I needed to go. There had never been a choice, really. There was only one place I would want to spend my last moments. I moved down the hallway until I found the door I wanted. It was painted black but the paint was chipped in some places so it didn't look much like the door where all the things Moriarty had done were locked behind. The knob was tarnished gold as was the knocker under the equally tarnished 221B. Sighing, I opened the door and walked up the stairs to the flat. Violin music drifted toward me and when I opened the door to the flat the music stopped. John and Sherlock stood and turned to me._

 _"_ _What've you done?" Sherlock demanded._

 _"_ _Rei, why would you do something like this?" John asked looking shocked and angry._

 _"_ _Can we please not argue about it?" I requested. "Or talk about it at all? I just want to be with you two until—until it's over."_

 _"_ _ **No**_ _," both of them said sharply._

 _"_ _You're not going to die," John added._

 _"_ _You're not_ _ **allowed**_ _," Sherlock corrected him. I blinked and closed the door to the flat._

 _"_ _It's too late for that, don't you think?" I replied. "It's happening. There's nothing to be done now." There was a tightness in my chest now making it harder to breathe. A rumble went through the room and I had the feeling that my mind palace was collapsing._

 _"_ _You can fight it," John pointed out. "You can go back."_

 _"_ _Moriarty won't let you die," Sherlock reminded me. "Did you really think he would?"_

 _"_ _I thought if he didn't find me in time—" I began. Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes._

 _"_ _You didn't snap your neck, Reilen," he said. "You've strangled yourself. Moriarty will have no problem bringing you back from that." As if to punctuate this point the windows burst open and a breeze whipped around the room and I found it easier to breathe for a minute._

 _"_ _No!" I cried shaking my head and flattening myself against the door. "I want to go! I won't go back! Let me go!"_

 _"_ _Go back," Sherlock commanded. "We'll find you. You know we will."_

 _"_ _No you won't!" I sobbed as another breeze whipped around the room. "He said he won't let you! I can't do this anymore, Sherlock! I give up!" Sherlock stormed over to me and his hands closed around my shoulders._

 _"_ _You are not_ _ **allowed**_ _to give up!" he said in a sharp quiet voice as he shook me slightly. "Go back. Prove that you're stronger than him. It won't be much longer. Now go." I looked between the two of them. John nodded encouragingly and Sherlock stared at me intently until I turned and walked back into the hallway. I ran down the hall to a glowing white door at the end. I yanked it open and was blinded by a bright light…_

I drew in a deep breath and coughed hard as I tried to breathe normally. My throat was on fire and both my neck and throat felt swollen.

"Did you think it would be that easy little mouse?" Moriarty drawled. I turned and saw him and Sebastian standing nearby.

"Get it over with," I rasped at him as I sat up. "Whatever you're going to do, just do it." He prowled across the room and leaned over me.

"Just remember," he told me in a soft icy voice. "You brought this on yourself." His foot connected with my head and everything went black.

* * *

My punishment for trying to kill myself was better and worse than I had expected. Better because Moriarty left me alone in my room after that. I didn't have to clean or do anything except stay in my room. But I hadn't expected the beatings to escalate. At least the "special" punishments had stopped. I wasn't entirely sure how long I had been here since then but I was fairly certain it had been about a week.

* * *

I lay on my mattress and stared at the ceiling. Everything hurt. I had a feeling that my ribs were broken or cracked at the very least. Breathing hurt. I closed my eyes and focused on ignoring the pain so that I could sink into my mind palace. I had been spending an increasing amount of time there since there was nothing else in the room to occupy my attention and being there at least meant I could spend time with my mental versions of John and Sherlock.

 _"_ _You're taking too long!" I shouted at Sherlock as I paced around the living room while he sat in his chair and watched me. "I'll be dead soon, in case you care! Nevermind, who am I talking to? Of course you don't." Sherlock opened his mouth but I cut him off._

 _"_ _I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I'm tired. I know you do—at least a little, anyway. You won't admit it,_ _ **ever**_ _, but I know you do."_

 _"_ _It'll be over soon," he assured me. I sighed and flopped down on the sofa._

 _"_ _Right," I agreed. "Because I'll be dead."_

 _"_ _Don't talk like that," John scolded me._

 _"_ _John, neither of you are real," I snapped. "I'm losing my mind—I feel like I am—and death would be preferable to that."_

 _"_ _Agreed," Sherlock responded._

 _"_ _Sherlock!" John shouted rounding on him. Sherlock raised his eyebrows._

 _"_ _It would be," he replied simply. "Should I ever begin to lose my mind I like to believe that "accidently" walking in front of a bus will be enough to end what I assume will be a miserable existence." John rolled his eyes. I could almost believe that I was back home. A chill swept over me and I shivered._

 _"_ _Sherlock, close the windows," I commanded. "It's freezing in here."_

 _"_ _They're not open." I sat up and looked from him to the windows. He was right of course._

 _"_ _Then why is it so cold in here?" I demanded. Sherlock stood up and came to stand in front of me._

 _"_ _You need to wake up," he told me firmly. "_ _ **Now**_ _!"_

My eyes snapped open and I felt the icy air on my skin. There was a weight on top of me, a breath on my ear...

" _No_!" I cried as I tried to shove Moriarty off of me.

"Now, little mouse, you know better," he murmured in my ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps to instantly pop up all over my body. A horrible realization hit me. I was on my back. I had never been in this position during any of Moriarty's "special" punishments. I had been secretly pleased with that fact. This felt too intimate.

"Please stop," I pleaded in a tiny voice. "Please." He chuckled and thrust into me so hard that I cried out in pain.

"I've enjoyed this, little mouse, _immensely_." He planted a kiss on my ear and left a trail of kisses down my neck and then back up to my jaw. I felt bile rise up the back of my throat but I swallowed hard not wanting to have vomit all over myself.

"Stop stop stop stop," I repeated over and over as if that would actually have any effect at all. "Stop stop stop stop."

"I can't do that," he replied. "I'm having too much fun." He kissed me roughly, shoving his tongue down my throat, continuing to thrust painfully into me. He wrestled with my tongue muffling my cries and practically inhaling them like they were giving him energy. His knuckles dug into my ribs and I screamed as black spots danced in front of my eyes. He growled in my ear as he finished and I shuddered in disgust. He left without a word and I put my dress back on and curled into a ball on the mattress.


	9. The Milgram Experiment

Chapter 9: The Milgram Experiment

"Wake up!" Sebastian's foot connected with my side and I grunted in pain. How long had it been since Moriarty had been here? It couldn't have been long, a few hours at most. I forced myself to sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes.

"Get changed." Sebastian dumped a pile of clothes on my lap and walked out.

' _These are_ _ **my**_ _clothes!_ ' I realized as I held up the shirt I had been given. Why was Moriarty having put on my own clothes? I got dressed as quickly as possible, grabbing my fluorite from under the mattress and slipping it into my pocket. I found my trainers and coat on the table and put them on but my scarf was nowhere to be seen. The scarf had been a gift from John since I had kept stealing Sherlock's and Sherlock was getting sick of it so John had bought me one of my own.

I began pacing anxiously around the room. What was Moriarty playing at now? Was he letting me go? _Unlikely_. Was he going to kill me and leave my body somewhere for Sherlock to find? _Probably_. The door to the room opened and Moriarty and Sebastian stepped in.

"Time to go, little mouse," Moriarty said.

"Go where?" I questioned eyeing them wearily. Moriarty sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Get her," he ordered Sebastian, who came forward and forced a cloth over my face.

' _Chloroform,_ ' I recognized instantly and held my breath.

"Can't do that forever," Sebastian sneered. He was right but I held out as long as I could. After several minutes my brain was screaming at me to breathe and I knew I was going to pass out anyway. I drew in a large breath and inhaled was slightly sweet chemical smell. My head spun and I felt my fingers start to go numb. The feeling would work its way up from my extremities leaving numbness in its wake. This would only take a few seconds. I would lose consciousness shortly after. Five seconds after to be exact. I felt my body sag against Sebastian as the drug pulled me under.

* * *

"Moriarty, you had me meet you here under the assumption that Reilen would be returned to me," Sherlock's voice snapped. "Now, _where is she_?"

"Sherlock," I groaned as I opened my eyes.

"All in good time, Sherlock," Moriarty's voice replied.

"No!" John's voice shouted. " _Now_! Give her back, _now_!" Moriarty sighed.

" _Fine_ ," he grumbled. "Here you go." A light flared above me and I squinted against the harsh light. In front of me was a two-way mirror so I couldn't see Sherlock or John but I knew they could see me. I shifted and realized that I was tied to a chair and hooked up to something by the feel of it. I could feel the round stickers connecting wires to my skin. The light shut off and I could see through the two-way mirror into the room where Moriarty stood with Sherlock and John. Sebastian leaned against the opposite wall polishing a handgun. John was eyeing him with his hand on his own gun.

"What was all that?" John demanded gesturing to the mirror. "What've you done to her?"

"That is how you'll get her back," Moriarty answered. "You can have her back after Sherlock completes the— _experiment_."

"Experiment?" John asked looking confused. "What experiment?" Moriarty chuckled.

"Sherlock understands, don't you?" John looked worriedly at Sherlock.

"Sherlock?" he asked.

"The Milgram Experiment," Sherlock responded. "Those wires on Reilen connect her to this dial here. When the dial is turned she will receive a shock. They're mild at first but get progressively stronger. When this experiment was first performed there were questions that were asked and for each wrong answer the person hooked up to the dial received a shock."

"That was in the 60's, wasn't it?" John asked. "It had something to do with explaining why the Nazis followed orders even if they knew it was wrong."

"Very good, John," Sherlock agreed. "But it was _fake_. No one was ever shocked. They were just prerecorded screams. Let's try, shall we?" He turned the dial and a shock went through me. I yelped in pain but luckily he shut it off again.

"Sherlock, I don't think that was fake," John said uneasily. Sherlock snorted and turned to Moriarty.

"Of course it was," he snapped. Moriarty spread his hands and shrugged.

"You caught me," he said. "But you have to finish the experiment before I let her go."

"Fine," Sherlock replied. "Let's end this quickly, shall we?" I watched as he turned the dial as far as it would go. The shock slammed into me and I screamed. All my muscles locked up and I felt my eyes roll back in my head.

"All right, he's done it!" John's voice cried. "Now end it!"

"Just a few more minutes," Moriarty insisted. "I'll let you know when you can stop." The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I must have bit my tongue.

' _Sherlock thinks this is all fake,_ ' I realized as I tried not to choke on the blood filling my mouth. ' _That's why he hasn't stopped yet._ ' I wanted to scream for Sherlock to stop but my jaw had locked shut. I could imagine the electricity sparking across my brain and destroying my mind palace. How long would I be able to stand this before I lost my mind or died?

"That's enough," Moriarty's voice decided. There was a _click_ as the dial was turned off and I went limp against the chair.

"We can have her back now?" John asked.

"Yes, yes," Moriarty agreed. "Take her. I'm bored with her now anyway." The light came back on but I could hardly focus on it. I just wanted to pass out. A thin trickle of blood was oozing out of my mouth and I let it. I didn't think I had the energy to do anything about it.

" _Jesus Christ_!" John shouted. The door to the room burst open and Sherlock and John rushed over to me.

"It was real?" Sherlock gasped in disbelief. "No—but—it can't have been!" He whirled around to face Moriarty.

"You're the one who assumed it wasn't real, Sherlock," Moriarty sneered. "This is _your_ doing, not mine. But I held up my end of the bargain. I must be going now." He and Sebastian left and John jumped up to stop them.

"Let them go," Sherlock ordered putting a hand on John's arm. "Mycroft is waiting outside with his men. They're not going anywhere." John came back to me and began unhooking the wires.

"You're okay, Reilen," he said in a soothing tone. "We've got you. We'll get you to the hospital and everything will be fine." I didn't feel like things would be fine. I felt like bits my brain had been broken off and were floating away. How long had the shock treatment gone on for? John was doing the doctor thing, checking me over, noting the bruises and such.

"All right, I think we can go now," Sherlock decided. "You can finish checking her over at the hospital." Before John could protest he had scooped me into his arms and was carrying me from the room. I laid my head against his shoulder and inhaled the scent of his cologne, his aftershave, the chemicals he had been experimenting with—all of it smelled just like I remembered. It all smelled like _home_.


	10. Not So Happy Homecoming

Chapter 10: Not So Happy Homecoming

"Leave me alone!" I shouted at the nurse who was currently trying to check my vitals.

"Ms. Turner, please," she replied sternly. "You can't keep behaving this way with everyone who comes in here! I'm only trying to do my job!"

"Well go do it somewhere else!" I ordered. "Or is you IQ so low that you can't even follow basic commands!?"

"That's it!" she cried throwing her hands up in exasperation. "I'm getting Dr. Watson!"

"See what good that does you!" I shouted after her. I yanked the curtains around my bed and pulled my knees up to my chest, grabbing my fluorite off the bed tray and turning it over and over in my hand. Why did John insist on making things difficult? I had told him that I didn't want to be bothered by any of the nurses. _Sherlock_ had told him and still he insisted that they be allowed to do an hourly vitals check. I was _fine_ for god's sake! The bruises and the gash in my tongue were healing and the only damage I had suffered from the shock treatment had been a bit of confusion and short term memory loss. Neither of these things had lasted for more than a few days. Therefore, I was fine. If I was dying they would know it and then something could be done. Until then I just wanted to be left alone. There was gauze on my right wrist and I unwrapped it slowly. Without looking, I trailed the fingers on my left hand down my right wrist stopping just below the cluster of blue veins. There they found the barely healed initials that had been carved into my skin: _JM_.

 _Moriarty had just finished a "special" punishment. Sebastian had helped him this time and the combination had left me huddled in a ball trying to breathe past the pain. My chest felt like it had been crushed. I shouldn't have fought back. If I hadn't scratched Sebastian across the face he wouldn't have stomped on my chest. Fighting back had gotten me nowhere. The end result had been the same. There had just been more pain in getting there._

 _"_ _You seem to have forgotten where you are, little mouse," Moriarty said as he crouched beside me. "You've forgotten who you belong to. Shall I give you something to remind you?" Sebastian came and held me down even though I hadn't moved since I had no idea what Moriarty was planning. Moriarty grabbed my right arm and pinned it to the floor, crushing my hand into the concrete with his knee. He pulled out a pocket knife and began carving away at my wrist. I screamed and writhed on my mattress, trying desperately to get away from him._

 _"_ _There we are!" he exclaimed as he finished. "Now you'll always remember!_ _ **I own you**_ _, little mouse." He and Sebastian stood and left the room. When they were gone I turned my head and saw that he had carved his initials into my wrist…_

It had taken weeks for the wound to start to heal since Moriarty insisted on opening it up as soon as it scabbed over. The letters had been carved deep enough that there was no doubt that they would scar. I hadn't shown John or Sherlock. I kept my wrist covered at all times. That was one reason I didn't want the nurses checking me over. Mostly, it was just that I didn't want to be touched. Not by them, not by anyone. Sighing, I rewrapped my wrist.

The curtains were yanked back making me jump and drop my fluorite. It skittered across the floor, stopping when it hit Sherlock's shoe.

"Reilen, you can't keep doing this," John scolded as he marched over to my bed. Sherlock bent down and retrieved the stone before joining John.

"Well if you'd _listen_ to her then she wouldn't have to," Sherlock pointed out as he handed me the fluorite. "There's no need for hourly vitals checks. They haven't been necessary for several days."

"Sherlock, you're not a doctor," John snapped. "You have no idea what's necessary and what isn't. I'm not doing this to upset her. _All_ patients get hourly checks. That's how it works!"

"She's a VIP patient," Sherlock reminded him. "Rules can be bent or even completely discarded if need be." I groaned and flopped back against my pillows. Mycroft had insisted that I have a VIP status while I was here. And while that meant I got to have my own room and one that was much more comfortable than a regular private room, I hadn't wanted everyone making such a fuss over me.

"I want to go home!" I complained. "I'm healing fine so there's no reason for me to stay here!" John sat down on the edge of the bed and I scooted away from him. Wisely, he didn't try to broach that subject.

"You're still not eating enough," he told me. "They don't want to let you go until you start eating regularly."

"I'm not hungry," I muttered. "You're a doctor. Can't you monitor how much I eat at home?"

"She has a point," Sherlock agreed. John let out a frustrated sigh and stood up.

"Fine," he allowed. "Fine. I'll go speak with her doctor and see what I can do."

"I'll leave on my own if he doesn't let me out of here," I informed him. John rolled his eyes and stormed out. I looked over at Sherlock and saw the glint of amusement in his pale green eyes.

"It's not funny," I snapped at him. "I want out of here." He sat down in the chair beside my bed and steepled his fingers as he studied me.

"We've noticed, you know," he said. I blinked and pulled my knees closer to my chest.

"Noticed _what_?" I muttered still annoyed over the fact that no one would listen to me.

"That you don't want to be touched." I fidgeted and began turning the fluorite over and over in my hand again.

"I just need some space is all," I admitted. "I just need to feel like I have some sort of—some sort of—"

"Control," Sherlock finished for me. "You've had no control over anything for months. You want that back. It's perfectly reasonable."

"Tell that to John," I scoffed.

"He's just being John. Worrying over you makes him feel better."

"I know," I sighed. Sherlock picked up a magazine and began to read. Or pretended to.

"Sherlock," I said after several minutes of silence.

"Hm?" He closed the magazine and looked up. I chewed my lower lip for a minute trying to work out what I wanted to say.

"Why didn't you give up?" I blurted out. "On getting me back. Was it just because you wanted to beat Moriarty or was it because John wouldn't let you?" Sherlock fixed me with a hard stare.

"Why would you assume those are the only two reasons I kept looking for you?" he demanded.

"Because those are the two that make the most sense?" I offered. Sherlock exhaled slowly through his nose and leaned forward.

"Do you honestly believe that you mean so little to me that I would leave you in Moriarty's clutches?" he asked.

"Moriarty said—" I began.

"I want to know what _you_ think," Sherlock cut me off. "Not what Moriarty told you."

"I—I don't know," I mumbled. Sherlock opened his mouth but before he could respond the door to my room opened and John came in with Dr. O'Hare, the doctor in charge of my case.

"How're we feeling today, Reilen?" Dr. O'Hare asked.

"Fine," I said hurriedly. "I'm fine. Can I leave now?" He studied my chart for a minute and scrutinized me over the top of his spectacles.

"You're weight is still much lower than I would like," he said.

"I can eat at home," I countered. "Mrs. Hudson is always feeding us."

"Dr. Watson has told me as much," he replied. "And since he's assured me that he and Mr. Holmes will make sure you get back up to a healthy weight and make sure all your injuries are healing properly—"

"I can go home?" I guessed barely able to contain my glee.

"On one condition," he responded. I stilled instantly and Sherlock's gaze snapped to the doctor who he had mostly been ignoring up until that point. I didn't like conditions like that. It didn't matter what they were they reminded me of— _him_.

"Condition?" I repeated quietly. Dr. O'Hare nodded.

"I want you to see a therapist," he told me. "I'll give some recommendations to Dr. Watson but I'll let you choose who you see."

"Why?" Sherlock and I demanded at the same time.

"PTSD," he answered simply. "Even the brightest minds are not always equipped to deal with all that that entails." He looked pointedly at Sherlock as he said this and Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, fine," he agreed. "Let's get Reilen sorted and ready to leave then, shall we?" Dr. O'Hare nodded and headed back into the hall.

* * *

The cab let us off outside of 221B and the three of us headed inside. It was nearly Christmas and most of the nearby flats had Christmas decorations of some sort. From the street I had seen the multicolored lights in the living room window of our flat.

"Welcome home," John said with a smile as he opened the door.

"Surprise!" several voices shouted from inside. "Welcome home!" I flinched at the sudden swell of noise and backed into Sherlock. I felt him pat my shoulders and give me a nudge into the flat.

"Mrs. Hudson," he murmured in my ear. "She invited Lestrade and Molly over to surprise you."

"Thanks for the warning," I muttered.

"Well it was a _surprise_ ," he replied. "Didn't want to spoil it." I saw balloons and a 'welcome home' banner right before Mrs. Hudson and Molly rushed over to me, throwing their arms around me. I tensed but allowed them to hug me. Pushing them away would only make them feel bad. Lestrade hung back but when Molly and Mrs. Hudson let me go he patted me on the shoulder and smiled warmly.

"I've been so worried!" Molly cried. "Sherlock's been so—I mean—all of us—we've all been worried."

" _Molly_ ," Sherlock said with a slight note of warning in his voice. Molly pressed her lips together and nodded.

"Right, sorry."

"How about some tea, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked me. I nodded and went to sit on the sofa.

"So your brother's got Moriarty in custody then?" Lestrade asked Sherlock.

"For now," Sherlock replied. "Let's see how long that lasts." Mrs. Hudson brought in a tea tray and began handing out tea cups.

"It's good to have you home," she said to me. I gave her a small smile and sipped my tea. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room but I pretended not to notice as I drank my tea. It was too hot and it burned my tongue and throat but if I was drinking then I couldn't talk. Sherlock and John both frowned at me when they noticed this. John cleared his throat but I had finished my tea already. I put my cup down and studied my hands.

"Sherlock, if your brother has Jim—I mean Moriarty does that mean there'll be a trial?" Molly asked. "And if there's a trial, won't Reilen have to testify?" I sucked in my breath and clenched my hands together.

"Molly, _stop talking_ ," Sherlock commanded sharply. I looked up at him; feeling like my eyes had gone so wide that they would fall out of their sockets. Molly clamped a hand over her mouth looking horrified. Disconnectedly, I noticed the engagement ring on her left ring finger.

' _Petite round brilliant cut center diamond with small pave diamonds along both sides of the band_ ,' I noted. ' _Accented with milgrain along the edge of the band. Tom finally proposed._ ' The distraction only lasted a few seconds.

"I—um—I need to—excuse me," I stammered. I fled from the room and ran to the first place I thought of that would make me feel calm: Sherlock's room. I shut myself inside and began pacing around the room, rubbing my arms and tugging at my hair.

"A _trial_!?" I muttered. "I can't go through a trial!" The door opened and I whirled around but it was only Sherlock.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes—no—I don't know. I'm sorry for coming in here." Sherlock waved away my apology.

"There may not be a trial," he said. "Mycroft has ways of _dealing_ with problems that don't involve the public, especially when the public has no idea anything has happened. But if there _is_ trial it won't be for some time. Moriarty has to outlive his usefulness after all." I sat down heavily on the bed and began to cry.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I ruined the party!" I put my head in my hands and continued to cry.

"Don't be ridiculous," he replied. "It wasn't much of a party to begin with anyway." There was knock on the door and it opened before Sherlock could ask who it was.

"Is she okay?" John asked.

"She's fine," Sherlock answered striding over to the door. "I'm handling it."

"But Sherlock—what's the matter?" John pressed.

"I think it's best that everyone go home now," Sherlock said. "See to it, will you?" He shut the door before John could respond.

"Thank you," I said softly.

"You should get some sleep," he replied. "Stay here if you like." I kicked off my shoes and crawled under the covers still in my clothes. Sherlock went to sit in a chair near the window.

"You're staying?" I asked as I watched him pick up a book.

"Unless my presence will bother you."

"I'm fine," I said quickly. I settled against the pillows and watched as Sherlock settled into the chair and began to read.

"Go to sleep, Reilen," he said after several minutes of me watching him. He didn't even look up from his book.

"I will," I replied. "I just want to watch you for a bit."

"Why?" He still wasn't looking at me.

"Because I missed you. I haven't seen in you in over two months."

"You're not staring at John," he pointed out.

"John's not in here, is he?" I countered. "I'll stare at him tomorrow." Never mind that I was staring at him because I had spent the last two months thinking about how much I loved him and thinking that I was going to die before I could tell him. Not that I could work up the courage to tell him _now_.

"Fair point," Sherlock allowed. He closed his book and turned his full attention to me. I gave him a small smile.

"I really did think it was fake, you know," he said. I swallowed hard at the thought of Moriarty's "experiment" and nodded.

"I know," I whispered. "That was the point."

"And while we're on the subject of Moriarty," he went on. "Let's talk about why you assumed there were only two reasons I kept looking for you." I resisted the urge to duck under the covers and pretend that I couldn't hear him.

"Can we not do this now?" I requested. "Didn't you want me to go to sleep?"

"Well you seem wide awake so there's no harm in finishing our earlier conversation," he quipped. "And I only want to hear _your_ reason, not anything Moriarty told you."

"Because I'm not worth it," I explained. "At least not worth you looking for so long. With me getting kidnapped repeatedly I'd say having me around had become rather tiring. So I thought maybe you'd only kept on because John insisted or because you wanted to beat Moriarty at his game."

"Well you're wrong," he replied in a rather sharp tone. "John is many things but his mental prowess is minimal compared to yours. I'd likely die of boredom if I didn't have you to argue with."

"You're exaggerating," I sighed.

"Only a little," he said. "Seeing what Moriarty was doing to you—I've never been so angry in my life. And seeing you in that chair—knowing that _I_ had done that to you…I thought it was another one of his tricks. I truly believed that you weren't actually being harmed."

"I know Sherlock," I responded. "It's all right." Sherlock seemed to consider something for a moment before taking a deep breath.

"Can you forgive me?" he asked. I blinked and sat up.

"There's nothing to forgive, Sherlock," I answered. "You thought it was fake, Moriarty let you believe that, and I had no way of telling you otherwise. I mean—if it makes you feel better then, yes, I forgive you." He stood and came over to me.

"I'm glad your home where you belong," he said before bending down and kissing my forehead. "Now go to sleep." I gaped at him as he turned and went back to his chair managing to shut my mouth just before he looked back over at me. I snuggled under the covers, pulling them up to my nose to hide how red my face had become.

"Good night, Sherlock," I said.

"Pleasant dreams, Reilen," he replied.


	11. Mostly Happy Holidays

Chapter 11: Mostly Happy Holidays

Christmas Eve arrived and Mrs. Hudson invited everyone over for drinks. Or as Molly called them "Christmas drinkies". She'd even invited Mycroft but he politely declined just like we all told her he would. Unless it involved giving Sherlock a case or scolding Sherlock for something he didn't come round the flat.

"Why is it necessary to do this?" Sherlock complained as John helped Mrs. Hudson make up a plate of snacks.

"Because it's what people do at Christmas," John replied. "It's fun."

" _Fun_ ," Sherlock scoffed.

"Oh Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson scolded. "Quit fussing! Play some Christmas music, would you?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and went to get his violin.

"Anyone home?" Lestrade's voice called from downstairs.

"Up here!" John called back. Lestrade came up followed closely by Mary Morstan, John's girlfriend.

"Hello everyone," she said cheerfully as she gave John a kiss.

"Hello Mary!" Mrs. Hudson replied, always happy to see her. I really liked Mary. She wasn't put off by Sherlock like John's previous girlfriends and she didn't mind that I lived with them. One of John's ex-girlfriends had made a huge deal out of our living arrangement. Even going so far as to accuse John of cheating on her with me. It was nice to have John date someone sane for a change.

"Reilen, I'm so glad you're back," Mary said as she gave me a hug. "I'm so sorry I missed your party the other night."

"That's all right," I assured her.

"It wasn't much of a party," Sherlock told her. "More of a gathering. Nothing exciting."

"I ruined it," I added.

"I'm sure that's not true!" Mary replied.

"It isn't," John agreed.

"What would you have me play, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock asked and I was grateful for the change of subject.

"Oh anything," she answered as she handed Mary a drink. "Just something festive." Sherlock began to play _We Wish You a Merry Christmas_. John handed out drinks and I sat on the sofa and quietly sipped my beverage while Sherlock continued to play Christmas songs. John took a seat in his chair and Mary perched on his lap while Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson sat on chairs from the kitchen.

"Anyone know what's keeping Molly?" I asked when Sherlock took a break from playing.

"She just texted me that she and Tom are almost here," John answered. "Seems there was a bit of traffic."

A few minutes later, Molly bustled in with Tom right behind her.

"Hello everyone!" she called happily as she shrugged out of her coat. Luckily, she'd dressed normally this year. Last year she had come in a flashy dress with her hair and makeup all done up to try and impress Sherlock. This year she was simply wearing jeans and a comfy looking sweater with her hair in a braid and very minimal makeup.

"Merry Christmas," Tom said. He and Molly cuddled up at one end of the sofa which made me scoot as far as I could into my end. Sherlock began playing Christmas songs again and I focused on that.

* * *

"I have presents!" Molly said enthusiastically as she grabbed a bag Tom had brought in. She handed out the gifts, blushing a little as she handed Sherlock his. It seemed she hadn't forgotten the incident from last year. There was a bit of activity as more presents were passed out. My gifts for John, Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, and Mary were still under our tree. We would open our presents tomorrow. It was a miracle I'd managed to get anything for anyone at all. Sherlock and John had taken me to the shops and Sherlock only gave me twenty minutes alone with John to pick out his gift. I'd done everything as quickly as possible since I really had no desire to be out around people at the moment. Hopefully everyone liked the things I had picked out.

"I hope you like it," Molly said handing me a gift. I smiled and began tearing at the paper covering a small box. Sherlock would have guessed what it was just by shaking it.

"I'm sure I will." Inside the small box was a pair of black leather gloves lined with fur on the inside.

"I know Sherlock has one from your other pair but John said you didn't have the other one," she explained.

"They're perfect," I responded giving her another smile and a small hug. "Thank you." I set the box on the coffee table and walked into the kitchen to get another drink. Molly, Tom, and Greg had several presents to open already I decided to wait a few minutes before I gave them mine. This meant I had time to grab a drink.

John had given me a mixed drink before but now I felt like drinking a little wine. The bottle that had been opened earlier was empty now so I'd have to open another one. I put the corkscrew into the cork and tried to pop it. I was still underweight and my arm strength wasn't anywhere near what it had been before Moriarty had taken me.

The bottle slipped sideways on the table and knocked over my glass.

" _Shit_!" I gasped as the glass smashed against the floor.

"Reilen?" John called. "Everything all right?"

"Mm-hm!" I called back. I turned to survey how much glass was on the floor and knocked the wine bottle off the table. The resulting crash was much louder than the crash from the wine glass. Wine splashed all over the floor and formed a spreading pool on the linoleum.

' _Broken glass…_ ' I thought and suddenly I was choked with panic. ' _How much trouble will I be in for wasting all that wine!?_ '

"Reilen!?" John cried. Sherlock appeared in the doorway.

"What happened?" he demanded. I looked from the mess on the floor to him.

"I—I—it was an accident," I stammered. "I'll clean it up—I'm sorry." I knelt down, soaking the knees of my jeans in the wine. Tears pooled at the corners of my eyes but I tried to blink them away as I hurriedly picked up the larger pieces of glass.

"Reilen, stop that," Sherlock ordered sharply. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"I'm sorry," I said again. "I'm really sorry. It was my fault—I—I wasn't being careful."

"I'll get the broom," John said. "Mary, can you grab some rags from the closet?"

"Sure," Mary replied. Sherlock marched over to me and crouched down, grabbing my wrists in a steel-like grip.

" _Stop_ ," he commanded. The glass fell from my hands which felt as though they had gone numb. My whole body seemed to freeze as I waited for the slap that my mind was expecting.

' _More than a slap because I didn't listen,_ ' I reminded myself. Sherlock released my wrists and one hand extended toward my cheek. I cringed and ducked my head, trying to protect my face. Sherlock hesitated and I watched his hand fall away.

"My room," he said. "Go." I leapt up and ran from the kitchen. Sherlock's room was dimly lit thanks to the bedside lamp. I had expected Sherlock to follow me in but it was several minutes before he opened the door and stepped inside.

"Get out of those so Mrs. Hudson can stop them from staining," he said as he held up my pajamas. He stepped out again while I changed. When he came back in I began to panic.

"I'm sorry a—about the mess," I apologized wringing my hands nervously. "Please don't—" Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"Don't _what_?" he asked.

"Don't punish me," I begged. "I'll be more careful. I won't do it again. I'll listen—I'll do as I'm told, I _promise_."

 _"_ _Promises, promises,"_ Moriarty's voice hissed in my head. _"We all know they don't mean a thing._ _ **Of course**_ _you'll make a mess again or break something else. And let's not forget how long it took to make you do as you were told."_

"I promise," I repeated.

"I'm not going to punish you," Sherlock replied gently.

"You're not?" I stared at him in confusion. "But—but—" He sighed.

"What good would that do?" he asked. "It was an accident."

 _"_ _Ooooh,"_ Moriarty's voice crooned. _"I know what he wants! He wants you to make up for it_ _ **another**_ _way."_ I closed my eyes and a tear slipped down my cheek.

"I don't want to," I whimpered.

"Don't want to do _what_?" Sherlock's hands closed around my shoulders. I jerked out of his grasp, tipped over my feet, hit the floor, and fell against his dresser. Tears were now streaming freely down my face.

"Reilen, _what_ is the matter?" he asked.

"I—I don't want to do—do _that_!" I sobbed. "I'd rather be hit—please, just do that instead."

"Reilen that's enough!" Sherlock snapped. "You're not making any sense!" I curled into myself, bringing my knees up to my chin.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," I sniveled. "I—I don't know what wrong with me. I'm sorry." Sherlock came and knelt beside me.

"It's all right," he murmured as he pulled me into his arms. "It's not your fault. Perhaps, after the holiday, we should see about getting you to a therapist." I shuddered at the thought of having to go over what had happened again. Sherlock's arms tightened slightly and I had a feeling that he was analyzing everything about me just from the hug. For once it didn't bother me. I didn't have the words to tell him anything right now and he had to get the information somehow.

"I've ruined another party," I whimpered. "It's _Christmas_ and everyone's here and—" I began sobbing again. Sherlock smoothed my hair out of my face and continued to stroke my hair as he shushed me. I had never seen Sherlock behave like this. He normally ignored any form of emotion except to acknowledge when John or I were angry or to point out his involvement in bringing about that particular emotion.

"And the presents!" I went on. "I haven't even given Molly, Tom, and Greg their gifts!"

"It's all right," he said again. "I'll have John see to it and send everyone home. It's time you went to bed, I think. You'll feel better in the morning. Sleep here, if you like." I nodded and stumbled over to his bed. While I made myself comfortable he went out to the living room, presumably to let John know the situation and to send everyone off. When he came back he was carrying his violin. I smiled slightly at this and snuggled down under the covers. Sherlock began playing a soft melody that had me lulled nearly to sleep within minutes.

"G'night, Sherlock," I mumbled sleepily.

"Pleasant dreams, Reilen."

* * *

The next morning I stumbled into the kitchen to fix some tea. I'd tossed and turned all night, plagued by nightmares so I was hardly awake now. The flat was quiet. I had probably woken up before the others. I could remember being younger and waking up at the crack of dawn, excitedly and _loudly_ , with my older brother. We would wake the rest of the family, impatient to tear into our presents. And then after my younger sisters were born when I was nineteen I had woken up with them and helped them wake the whole house.

I'd done that last Christmas with John and Sherlock. I'd run into Sherlock's room and jumped on the bed, demanding that he get up. John had found it hilarious. Things were different now. I was glad for the quiet.

As I walked into the living room I found Sherlock sprawled on the sofa, fast asleep. A book lay open on the floor which must had fallen from his hand after he had drifted off. I hadn't even heard him leave his room last night. I felt a prang of guilt that I had booted him out of his bed which was infinitely more comfortable than the leather sofa. I watched him for several minutes. He twitched slightly in his sleep every now and then and once or twice he made a "hmm" noise like he was thinking. Luckily, he was wearing pajamas under his dressing gown. He'd been known to wander around the flat in just a bedsheet. Not something John or Mary wanted to walk in on though it didn't bother _me_.

When I got tired of standing and watching him I sat in his chair and watched the Christmas lights on our tree twinkle and change. After a while, I could hear John and Mary, who must have stayed over, talking quietly in his room upstairs. Mrs. Hudson would be getting up soon as well.

' _I think I'll make everyone breakfast,_ ' I decided as I drained my teacup and headed back into the kitchen. ' _It's the least I can do after—well—after last night._ ' I set about preparing eggs and sausage (which was about the only breakfast food I was any good at cooking) and making more tea.

"How long have you been up?" Sherlock's voice startled me and I jumped, losing my grip on the potholder I was using to hold the handle of the skillet containing the sausages. My palm hit the hot metal of the handle and I shouted in pain. Luckily, I avoided upsetting the skillet and dumping the sausages all over the floor.

"Damn it, Sherlock!" I yelled as I cradled my hand to my chest. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" I spun around, glaring at him through the tears in my eyes. As quickly as the surge of anger had come it faded to be replaced by a feeling of cold dread. What had I done? Why had I yelled at him like that? I _knew_ better. Realizing what I had done, I shrank back against the stove, dropping my gaze to the floor.

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered. Sherlock didn't say anything or move from where he was standing by the kitchen table. The temperature in the room seemed to go up by ten degrees.

"Reilen!" Sherlock barked suddenly. He lunged across the small space separating us and shoved me away from the stove. He turned me away from him and whacked at my back with the sleeve of his dressing gown before turning back and shutting off the stove.

' _Did I almost catch fire?_ ' I wondered right before Sherlock spun me back around and grabbed me by the shoulders.

"Why would you stand against the stove like that!?" he demanded angrily, shaking me slightly. "Reilen! _Answer me_!" I felt myself begin to tremble. I had made him angry.

 _"_ _You're really going to get it now,"_ Moriarty's voice singsonged in my head.

"Sherlock, what're you carrying on about?" John asked as he and Mary came into the kitchen. Sherlock glanced at the two of them before grabbing my arm and pulling me down the hall and into the bathroom.

"Sit," he ordered pointing to the edge of the bathtub. I did as he said and watched as he dug through the medicine cabinet, pulling out aloe lotion and some gauze. I held out my hand to him and he covered the burn (which really wasn't all that bad) in aloe and then wrapped it in the gauze.

"What were you thinking?" he questioned. "You nearly caught fire."

"I—I wasn't thinking," I mumbled, studying the gauze wrapped across the palm of my hand. "I shouldn't have—I hadn't meant to yell at you." That was a lie. I'd been angry at him, I'd gotten hurt. But I shouldn't have reacted like that. _I knew better_.

"Yes you did," he responded.

' _I yelled at him,_ ' I listed myself. ' _I made him angry. I lied. I deserve the punishment for this. I broke so many rules._ ' I told myself I would take whatever punishment I received without crying or begging or making more promises that I couldn't keep.

 _"_ _Make it up to him,"_ Moriarty continued to singsong in my head. _"You know what to do. Maybe he won't hit you quite so hard if you do a good job."_ Sherlock was still standing in front of me, clearly waiting for something. Had he asked me a question? I hadn't been paying attention. Great, one more thing for me to be in trouble over.

Taking a deep breath, I reached out and took ahold of his dressing gown. His cotton trousers were held up with a drawstring. My hands had started shaking but I couldn't back out now. It was either this or a worse punishment.

' _Just pretend to be somewhere else,_ ' I told myself firmly. ' _Pretend it's not happening._ '

"What're you doing?" Sherlock asked sounding alarmed. He took a step away from me causing his dressing gown to fall shut.

"Don't—don't you want me to?" I questioned in a shaky voice. "It's less work than hitting me would be."

"Why do you think I'm going to hit you?" he wanted to know. He wanted me to list everything for him. So I knew why I was being punished.

"I yelled at you," I replied. "I made you angry. I lied about meaning to yell at you. I wasn't listening just now so if you said something I didn't hear." Sherlock crouched down so that he was level with me.

"Reilen, look at me." His voice was gentle, quiet, like he was trying not to startle me. I lifted my gaze and looked into his pale green eyes. He didn't look angry now. He looked worried and maybe a little sad.

"I'm not going to hit you," he insisted. "And I certainly don't want you doing—anything like— _that_. I was angry because you nearly caught your dressing gown on fire."

"I shouldn't have yelled at you," I said. "That sort of rudeness should be punished." Sherlock huffed, clearly losing his patience. I tensed, waiting for the first hit.

"You wouldn't be _you_ if you didn't yell at me every now and then," he replied. "It's not _rude_ it is simply how you and I are with each other. I'm not going to punish you for that—for anything. You'll get used to it eventually." I forced myself to relax. He wasn't lying. I could tell that at least.

The bathroom door opened and John stepped in, taking in the two of us and the bandage on my hand.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

"Fine," Sherlock responded smiling slightly at John over his shoulder. "Reilen burnt her hand cooking breakfast. My fault, really, I startled her."

"You okay?" John asked me. "Want me to have a look?"

"I'm all right," I mumbled. "It's not that bad, really. I just lost my grip on the potholder."

"Right," John responded. "Well, Mary finished preparing everything if you two are ready to join us."

"We'll be right out," Sherlock said. John nodded and left us alone. Sherlock stood and pulled me to my feet. I felt tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. I'd had this whole idea that I would surprise everyone with breakfast and now I'd ruined it. Just like I'd ruined the Christmas party last night. _And_ my welcome home party.

"You're crying," Sherlock stated shifting uneasily. "Why're you crying?" I knew he was uncomfortable with this kind of emotion especially when he didn't know what was causing it.

"I can't—can't do anything right!" I lamented swiping angrily at the tears running down my cheeks.

"It's only breakfast," he pointed out. "You'd finished cooking it anyway. Mary most likely just set it out on the table."

"I'm sorry," I sniffled as I dried my eyes. "I'm a mess." Sherlock responded by patting me on the head which I found sweet but also a little annoying. I wasn't a child after all. I also noticed that he hadn't agreed with me. Although, he hadn't denied it either.

"Let's get this over with, shall we?" he requested as he ushered me out of the bathroom. It was a known fact that Sherlock had little patience for holidays.

"Merry Christmas!" Mary gushed excitedly when Sherlock and I entered the kitchen. It was clear she was trying to ease some of the tension from earlier.

"Merry Christmas," I replied feeling embarrassed that I had caused a scene so early in the morning.

"Oh, Reilen," Mrs. Hudson fretted coming over and examining the bandage on my hand. "Are you all right? John said you burnt your hand."

"I'm fine, Mrs. Hudson," I assured her. "It's not all that bad." We sat down and Mary began passing around the food.

"You did a wonderful job cooking," she complimented me. "It looks great." I flushed and mumbled something resembling a thank you.

"So what were you carrying on about earlier Sherlock?" John asked as we began eating.

"Who was carrying on?" Sherlock scoffed. "I wasn't carrying on." I rolled my eyes. Now he was going to pretend like nothing had happened? How often had that ever worked?

"You were shouting at Reilen," John insisted. "Shaking her a bit. Seemed like carrying on to me."

"You did look quite angry," Mary added. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the two of them.

"Ah, yes," he answered. "That. Reilen nearly caught her dressing gown of fire. I wasn't angry at _her_. I simply thought it would be best if she avoided the possibility of being covered in what could have been very severe burns. It is Christmas after all." It was John's turn to roll his eyes. Mrs. Hudson began talking to Mary and no one brought up the subject again.

After breakfast we gathered in the living room to open presents. Mary was pleased with the bottle of her favorite perfume I had picked out of her. Mrs. Hudson thoroughly approved of the lacquer box for her "herbal soothers" and John beamed at me when he opened the new stethoscope I had got him to use at the surgery where he and Mary worked. I was sure they were just being nice. I hadn't had time to find out what they really wanted. When it was Sherlock's turn to open his gift I watched him apprehensively. I was most nervous about his gift. Sherlock was incredibly hard to buy gifts for. He held it close to his ear and shook it but I could see that he already knew what it was. It wasn't in a box and it was distinctly _book_ shaped.

"Some "light" reading?" he teased me hefting the book in one hand. "Let's see. Heavy, leather-bound—"

"Sherlock," John groaned. "Take a day off." Sherlock smirked and began tearing at the wrapping paper. He blinked in surprise and held up the book.

"I—I found it at that antique shop down the road," I explained quickly before he could say anything. "It's about chemistry. It's from the 1800's."

"It's—" he began.

"You don't like it," I finished for him. "The information isn't relevant anymore. It's too old. I knew I should have picked something else."

"No, it's wonderful," he countered giving me a smile. "Thank you." I blushed furiously and returned his smile.

"You're welcome," I replied quietly.

"Why don't you open your gifts now?" John suggested. Mary pushed a small pile of presents toward me.

"You didn't have to get me anything," I mumbled.

"Nonsense," Mary responded. I happily opened each of the four gifts in front of me. Mary had given me perfume (not the same kind I given her but one that I tried months ago and had really liked because it smelled like citrus). Mrs. Hudson had given me a collector's edition of a book series I had been obsessed with for years. John had given me a digital camera.

"I was going to buy one on my own!" I cried as I opened the box.

"I know but I thought I'd save you the trouble." He grinned at me.

"Thank you!" I yelped excitedly. "Thank you thank you thank you!" I jumped up and hugged him tightly. John returned the hug seeming pleased with himself and my reaction.

"Now mine," Sherlock said picking up the box and holding it out to me. I took it and shook it lightly.

"Well it's not a book," I noted. "Tissue paper lining. Has some weight to it but not much so most likely clothing of some kind."

"All right Rei," John laughed. "Now _you_ take a day off." Sherlock seemed pleased with my deductions. I grinned at him, tore open the wrapping paper, and opened the plain white box. Sitting inside a bed of white tissue paper was a dark blue scarf. I picked it up, feeling the soft fabric.

' _Cashmere,_ ' I analyzed as I studied it. ' _Fringe on the ends…It's_ _ **my**_ _scarf._ ' This one was brand new, however. Still, it was exactly like the one I had worn when Moriarty had taken me. It was exactly like Sherlock's.

"Yours was—damaged," Sherlock said although he didn't go into detail about what that meant. "And I'd like to keep possession of my scarf as it is winter."

"So a gift that benefits you then?" I smirked at him.

"Exactly," he agreed. I knew that wasn't it, at least not entirely. It was some of it, Sherlock really did want to keep me from stealing his scarf, but he had known that I had loved my old scarf. For him to buy me a new one meant a lot to me.

"Thank you," I said. He nodded in acknowledgement. Sherlock wasn't much of a hugger and I didn't want to make him feel awkward.

"I think that's everything," John said looking around to be sure there were no presents left.

"Thank god that's over." Sherlock jumped up and strode into the kitchen where he promptly began creating a mess in what I'm sure he would insist was an important experiment.

"He's in an interesting mood," John noticed mostly unaffected by all the noise Sherlock was making. He picked up the newspaper and began reading.

"He's _happy_ ," Mary pointed out with a smile.

"Sherlock?" John looked over his shoulder at him and shook his head. "No. He's just— _manic_. Probably needs a case or something. Meds probably wouldn't hurt."

"I think he's happy," Mary said to me. I smiled and nodded.

"I think so too," I agreed.

* * *

The holidays ended thankfully better than they began. New Year's Eve brought another party at our flat but luckily I managed to keep control of myself and not cause a scene. New Year's Day was pretty uneventful. Mostly, it consisted of me running about the flat taking pictures with my new camera and annoying Sherlock with constant commands of "don't move, I like the look of this", "come over here, the lighting's better", and "don't make that face at me! It's the last one, I promise!".

Once it was time to go back to work John wasted no time trying to get me in to see a therapist but there were no appointments open until the middle of February.

"I'll try Ella again," John said one morning at breakfast. "Maybe she can get you in if there's a cancelation." Ella had been John's therapist after he had returned from Afghanistan.

"Why?" I scoffed as I sulked in my chair. "So she can tell me keep a diary? Or write a _blog_?" I was even less enthused about going to see a therapist than I had been at Christmas and John's insistence at finding someone _right away_ was working on my last nerve.

"I doubt that's what she'll suggest you do," John replied. "And you have to give it a shot. You promised Dr. O'Hare you would. We put it off because of the holidays but it's time to find someone."

"John, I don't _want_ —" I began.

"Not to worry, Reilen," Sherlock assured me. "I'll be interviewing anyone who agrees to see you before you see them officially. I have to be certain they're up to par."

"Sherlock," John sighed. "You _can't_ scare off every therapist who agrees to see her. We'll never get anyone that way."

"Fine by me!" I huffed. I dumped my dishes in the sink and stalked into the living room.

"You didn't eat!" John snapped as he followed me.

"Sure I did," I contradicted as I flopped down on the sofa. "Look at my plate!"

"One bite of toast and cutting up your eggs and bacon _isn't_ eating!" John was working himself up into a fit.

" _I_. _Wasn't_. _Hungry_ ," I ground out and then turned over so that my back was to the room.

"I promised Dr. O'Hare that I would get you up to a normal weight," he reminded me. "You're only proving my point that something needs to be done. Rei, look at me." I rolled over and looked up at him.

"I don't know what to do to help you," he told me. "I'm gonna need a hint at least."

"Well, now, _that_ would be cheating," Sherlock said from his chair. I looked over at him, slouched in his chair, drumming his fingers on the arm of it. He looked bored. He hadn't had a case since I'd been gone. John had said that he wouldn't even let clients into the flat.

"You should see about getting a case," I said ignoring John. "Maybe Mycroft has something."

"I'm fine," Sherlock replied.

"No you're not," I argued. "You need puzzles to solve and you haven't got one."

"I'm _fine_ ," he responded snippily. "I think I know when I'm fine, thank you very much." Sherlock and I hadn't discussed his behavior from Christmas Eve or what had happened on Christmas Day. Knowing him, he was going to pretend it hadn't happened. Actually, that was exactly what he was doing.

"Rei, what can I do?" John pressed. "I want to help." I groaned, fed up with the conversation. I got up, stepped _onto_ the coffee table instead of going around, and headed into the hallway.

"I'm going back to bed," I grumbled. I shut myself in Sherlock's room and climbed back in bed. I still had my dressing gown on but I didn't care. I stared at the ceiling for several minutes. I'd had a terrible night's sleep and I was seriously considering going back to sleep.

A soft knock came from the other side of the door.

"Go away, John!" I groaned loudly. The door opened.

"It's me," Mary's voice responded. I rolled over and saw her head poking into the room.

"Oh—um—come in," I said as I scrambled into a sitting position.

"How're you doing?" she asked.

"Fine," I replied. "Just tired."

"I told John I'd talk to you," she told me. "He's really worried." She walked in and perched on the edge of the bed.

"He's driving me mad," I admitted. "He's going to call Ella again but she already said she couldn't get me in until February. I just wish he'd back off a bit." Mary nodded sympathetically.

"He doesn't know what to do," she said. "He's going out of his mind trying to put things right for you. And he knows that there's really no way for him to do that."

"I just need time," I explained. "I'll be okay. And waiting a few weeks won't make anything worse."

"I think he's a bit jealous, to be honest." I blinked.

"Jealous?" I scoffed. "Of what? My crippling anxiety?" Mary chuckled.

"No," she answered. "Of you and Sherlock."

"What about me and Sherlock? There is no _me and Sherlock_."

"He feels like you talk to Sherlock about what happened and how you feel but you won't talk to him. And it's true, isn't it?"

"Only 'cause Sherlock _makes_ me talk to him," I muttered. "And only when I'm panicking about it. Otherwise he leaves me alone."

"Well you sleep in here now, don't you?" she pointed out. "And Sherlock seems to be the only one who can calm you down."

' _God, I'm making John feel awful, aren't I?_ ' I thought feeling guilt forming a knot in my gut. ' _He's always been so nice to me and I've just been shutting him out._ '

"I do get it, you know," Mary said. "John can get pushy when he's trying to help. And if you don't want to talk that can make everything worse."

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I didn't mean to make John feel that way. And I certainly didn't mean for you to get dragged into the middle of all this." Mary hugged me.

"Oh, sweetie, you're being too hard on yourself. John understands, for the most part anyway. And I don't mind being here. Wild horses couldn't stop me." I returned her hug.

"Mary, can I talk to you about something?" I asked as we broke apart.

"Sure, anything."

"Sherlock's been acting _different_ since I got back," I informed her.

"Really?" she asked. "I haven't noticed anything."

"Well, the night I came home from the hospital he was talking to me about what had happened with Moriarty and he was apologizing for not realizing that it was fake and he _kissed_ my forehead."

"That's _sweet_!" Mary smiled broadly at me.

"Yes, but Sherlock doesn't _do_ sweet," I reminded her. "And at Christmas when I had that meltdown he held me and stroked my hair and soothed me until I calmed down."

" _Aw_ ," she squealed. "I can't believe it!"

"Well, now he's acting like it never happened. Which I expected."

"But you have feelings for him and you want to say something but you don't know if you should."

"Is it that obvious?" I groaned.

"Not to _Sherlock_."

"'Course not," I muttered. "He didn't notice Molly's feelings why would he notice mine?" Mary patted my hand.

"You probably shouldn't tell him right now," she decided. "Especially since you haven't told him about _that_." She nodded to my wrist which was still bandaged even though it had scarred over.

"How'd you know?" I wondered. "Sherlock doesn't even know."

"He hasn't asked about it but he probably knows. Can I see?" I held out my wrist and let her unwrap the bandage. She studied the scar, tracing the letters with her finger.

"He did this to prove that he owned you, right?" she guessed. "A permanent reminder?" I nodded and rewrapped the bandage.

"The doctor who saw me after I was brought to the hospital looked at it but I wouldn't let anyone else. And I can't bring myself to tell John and Sherlock. I'm sure they didn't see it happen. They would have said something by now if they had."

"Well why don't you tell them now?" Mary suggested. "You know it's something Sherlock would want to know." I shifted uncomfortably.

"It'll upset them," I said. "I don't want to make things worse." Mary put her arm around my shoulders.

"I'll keep them in line," she assured me.

"John better propose to you soon," I decided. "I can't be the only one dealing with the two of them."

"Oh I think he will." We grinned at each other before she tilted her head toward the door.

"Ready?" I nodded in agreement and let her lead me back to the living room.

"I thought you were going back to bed?" John noted when he saw me following Mary.

"We had a little chat," Mary replied. "And Rei has something she needs to show you two." This got Sherlock's attention.

"Well go on then," he urged me. I moved to stand between his chair and John's. I pushed up the sleeve of my dressing gown to get to the gauze on my wrist.

"What happened?" John demanded. "Is that recent? I didn't see it at the hospital or in the doctor's reports."

"It's old," I said slowly. "I asked him not to mention it."

"Why the devil would you do that?" John had that angry/worried look he got with Sherlock a lot.

"Because I didn't want you to know about it," I responded quietly. John looked over at Sherlock.

"Did you know about this?" he snapped at him. "Did she tell you? Mary knew, obviously, did you know too? Am I the only one left out of the loop!?" His voice rose with each word.

"I had no idea," Sherlock answered looking wide-eyed at all of us. I _almost_ believed him. When John turned back to Mary, Sherlock's gaze flickered over to me and he eyes narrowed. That look alone told me he had known about the gauze for a while. I wondered when he's seen it. When I was in the hospital? After the welcome home party or Christmas? Or was it before that? When he had carried me from that room after the "experiment"?

"But _you_ knew?" John asked Mary.

"She didn't _tell_ me," she insisted. "I noticed the gauze one day. Today's the first time she's shown me what's under it."

"And what's that then?" John turned back to me. I unwrapped the gauze and held out my wrist. Sherlock and John stood and came to examine it.

" _JM_ ," John breathed. " _Jesus Christ_." Sherlock grabbed my wrist and ran his thumb over the scars.

"Why would he do that?" John asked looking from Mary to Sherlock. "Carve his initials into her wrist. _Why_?"

"To prove a point," Sherlock murmured. "One she wouldn't forget. Am I right?" I looked up at him and nodded.

"You didn't see it happen?" I asked. Both of them shook their heads. I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

' _At least there's that._ ' I let out a mental sigh. ' _I'm glad they didn't see_ _ **everything**_ _._ '

"Why didn't you want us to know about it?" John wanted to know. "Why did you hide it?"

"There're still things I'm not ready to talk about," I explained. "Things neither of you saw. This was one of them."

"This is _exactly_ why we need to get you in to see a therapist," John said firmly.

"All right," I conceded. "Give Ella another call." John looked like he had clearly expected me to put up for a fight over that.

"Okay," he replied. "I will." He walked out of the room presumably to have some quite while he made his phone call. Sherlock and Mary sat down and I sank into John's chair as I began to rewrap my wrist.

"Don't cover it up," Sherlock said suddenly. I paused and furrowed my brow at him.

"Why not?" I questioned. "I don't want to look at it."

"He'd want that," Sherlock reasoned. "He'd want you to be ashamed and you shouldn't be. There's nothing to be ashamed of." He didn't know everything. I had plenty to ashamed of.

"Sherlock—"

" _Don't_ ," he insisted. Sighing, I crumpled up and bandage and threw it at him.

"Fine," I snapped. "Happy?" Sherlock smirked at me and settled into his chair. John strode back into the room with a smile on his face.

"Well," he said looking very chipper. "Ella says she just had a cancellation so she can get you in next Tuesday."

"Oh goody," I muttered. _Why_ had I agreed to this?

* * *

 _Water closed around my head and neck and I struggled against the hand gripping the back of my neck and holding me under. My hands were tied behind my back so I couldn't do anything to stop what was happening. The water was cold, so cold that it hurt. Moriarty's muffled voice came from above me._

 _"_ _Hit her," he commanded. Sebastian's hand slammed against my back and the air exploded from my mouth in a burst of bubbles. Water rushed down my throat…_

I couldn't breathe. It was so dark and my lungs burned with the lack of air but I couldn't make myself breathe.

' _I'm dead,_ ' I thought in a panic. ' _This is what happens when you die. There's nothing but darkness. Suffocating darkness._ ' I couldn't feel anything around me. I couldn't feel anything other than the burning need to breathe and the panic because I couldn't.

"Reilen!" a voice shouted. Sherlock's voice.

 _I needed to breathe_.

"Reilen!" he shouted again. "Wake up! You have to breathe!" I felt him shake me roughly.

 _I'm not dead_ …

My eyes snapped open and I sucked in a breath that made my head spin. My face was wet. Why was my face wet? I sat up quickly and touched my fingertips to my cheeks. Tears. I was crying. Of course I was.

"Reilen." Sherlock's voice made me jump. I looked over and saw him standing by the bed.

"Sherlock—what—?" I gasped as I wiped the tears from my eyes. "What's going on?" Stupid question. I knew what was going on but I couldn't think of anything else to say. He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. I squinted against the light and looked up at him. He was in his dressing gown but it didn't look like he had even gone to bed yet.

"Why are you still up?" I asked glancing over at the clock. "It's nearly two in the morning."

"I have things to do," he answered. "No time for sleep." I was pretty sure he hadn't slept in at least three days. The crash would come soon. Or it would unless Sherlock took something to keep him up. Maybe John was right about him going through a manic phase.

"Well at least I didn't wake you," I sighed. "Was I being very loud?"

"Not particularly," he replied. "It was the lack of noise that worried me." I wasn't sure what he meant by that. Why would the lack of noise worry him more than me shouting or—whatever I was doing in my sleep that caused me to make noise?

"Not making noise is a problem?" I questioned. Sherlock shook his head.

"I heard you crying out," he informed me. "But then you stopped abruptly. When I came to investigate I found that you were holding your breath. Moriarty again?" I nodded. That was the only thing it had been since I had come home.

"Something that actually happened or just a nightmare?" I'd had a mix of both.

"It happened," I said. "He had Sebastian drown me." Sherlock frowned.

"I never—" he began.

"You didn't see everything," I reminded him. "I think I'm okay. You can go back to—whatever you were doing."

"Would you rather I stayed here?" His face remained impassive but I was too tired to try and figure out why he was offering.

"If you don't mind," I agreed. I expected him to go get his violin or get a book to read but instead he walked around to the other side of the bed and flopped down beside me.

"Wh—what—what're you doing?" I demanded.

"Staying," he answered simply. I was dumbfounded. What had gotten into him?

"Sherlock—" I began.

"Go to sleep Reilen," he ordered as he settled down into the mattress. I laid in complete astonishment for several more minutes.

"Okay then," I muttered as I rolled onto my side. "Good night, Sherlock."

"Pleasant dreams, Reilen," he responded.


	12. Never Trust Sherlock's Tea

Chapter 12: Never Trust Sherlock's Tea

"It's nice to meet you, Reilen. John's told me so much about you." Ella smiled warmly at me but I continued to scowl across the room. Sherlock had tried, he really had. He'd found all sorts of reasons for the appointment with Ella to be canceled. Mainly, that Mycroft had told John to fire her when she'd misdiagnosed the tremor in his left hand as being caused by stress (really he'd just been bored, which was Sherlock's official diagnosis). Sherlock tried to find things for us to be busy with as well but since he lacked an actual case for us to be busy _with_ John ignored him and dragged us into Ella's office anyway. Sherlock had spent the first half hour of our visit grilling Ella about everything and anything he could possibly come up with. She had been patient with him and answered everything he asked. In the end, Sherlock and I had ended up slouched in our seats scowling at the far wall like petulant children.

"How have you been holding up these past few weeks?" she tried again. I heaved a sigh and crossed my arms.

"Rei," John sighed. " _Please_ try to behave better than Sherlock. Just for the two hours we're here."

"Why?" I snapped. "I don't want to be here."

"C'mon, I'll take you for Chinese after," he attempted to bribe me. "Or Mexican, whatever you want. Just _behave_."

"I'm not a child, John," I bit out.

"Well you're sure acting like one," he shot back. "I'd expect this from Sherlock but I thought you were more mature than this."

"Well I guess not." I slouched further in my chair. Ella was scribbling notes as she watched our interaction.

"We're always like this," I snapped at her. "Nothing to get excited about." Ella paused and looked up at me.

"What do you think I'm writing?" she questioned.

"It doesn't matter what it is," I responded. "All I'm saying is that none of this is anything new. John and Sherlock bicker. Sherlock and I bicker. John and I bicker. John insists that we behave and Sherlock and I do or we don't. It's how we are, how we've always been. None of this has anything to do with—with what happened."

"Why don't we talk about that for a minute?" she asked. Sherlock sat up straighter and leaned forward, studying Ella intently.

"Let's play a game, Reilen," he suggested. "How about—deductions?" I perked up at this.

"All right," I agreed. "What's the subject?"

"No, no games," John argued.  
"What did Ella write just now?" Sherlock said ignoring John.

"That's not really _deductions_ , is it?" I asked Sherlock. "I mean, I could probably just read her writing upside down."

"Stop it you two," John snapped.

"Well don't do that," Sherlock replied, again ignoring John. "Just— _observe_." I nodded and studied Ella.

"She wrote that I'm anxious," I decided. "That I most likely have severe anxiety."

"Well that one's easy, I can tell that just by looking at you," Sherlock scoffed. "You have codependency issues."

" _What_!?" I scoffed back.

"Well that one's fairly obvious as well," he pointed out. "If she's going off of what John's already told her then she'll know that you generally put the needs of John or myself above your own. The rest she can get by observing you and your interactions with us."

"If anyone's codependent here it's _you_ ," I snapped. "I've got four— _maybe_ five behaviors. _You've_ got at least eight."

"Fair point," Sherlock allowed. "Your turn."

"Low self-esteem and introverted," I said quickly. "Again, obvious." I was grinning by now. Deductions was always fun (although I hardly ever beat Sherlock and I had _never_ beaten Mycroft).

"That's enough now, stop it!" John ordered. Sherlock and I completely ignored him.

"You mimic my behavior in an attempt to gain my approval," Sherlock declared. "Well that's flattering, I suppose."

"You're making that one up!" I accused him.

"Don't you?" he asked giving me a smirk.

"Of course not!" I prayed that my face wasn't turning red.

"Liar," Sherlock chuckled. "Moving on." I glared at him and turned my attention back to Ella.

"Trust issues," I grumbled feeling grumpy that the game was only making me realize how much was actually wrong with me. "Not that that's anything new. Although personally, I think that being trusting is stupid."

"Great why to get killed," Sherlock agreed. "Or—scammed. That one's more common, isn't it?"

"Right," I mused.

"I said that's enough!" John repeated but we went on ignoring him.

"You deflect things," Sherlock went on. "If you don't want to talk about them. Currently, with childish behavior."

"So do you," I replied although that was summing up both deflection and childish behavior.

"Shall we move on to the good things?" Sherlock suggested.

"I wasn't aware those counted," I muttered. He clucked his tongue at me.

"That would be the low self-esteem."

"All right stop it!" John shouted. "Both of you _just stop it_!" I flinched at the anger in his voice and drew back against my chair. Sherlock sat back as well, eyeing John with a raised eyebrow. There was an uncomfortable silence for several minutes.

"Well, that was very— _telling_ ," Ella said at last.

"I won," Sherlock said looking smug.

"'Course you did," I replied. "You _always_ win." I eyed John uneasily. He was still seething in his seat on the other side of Sherlock. It would be a while before he really calmed down.

"I don't understand." Ella looked confused. "You were both right so how do you determine a winner?"

"I was the one who made John yell," Sherlock told her. "Therefore, I win. Playing deductions over what you wrote wasn't much of a game. Reilen would be able to beat me at that as she's simply listing things she already knows about herself. Now playing 'the-last-one-to-speak-before-John-begins-shouting' is a much harder game."

"When did you agree to play that game?" Again, Ella looked confused.

"Reilen and I know each other well enough to tell when that game is being played."

"And you approve of this?" she asked me. "Making John angry?" I fiddled with the cuff of my shirt sleeve.

"Well—every once in a while," I mumbled. "When I'm really annoyed with him. Like now."

"You did agree to this," she reminded me. I sighed.

"Yes but then I changed my mind—or I just—just thought we could wait a bit longer. I'm not ready."

"You'll never be ready if you keep putting it off," she said gently. "I know it's hard to talk about what happened. It's still fresh in your mind. But John's told me what you've been going through and I truly believe that the sooner we get these issues addressed the sooner you can be back to your old self."

"Well then you've got to trim that list of yours," I snapped. "Half of that has _nothing_ to do with what happened. It's just how I am."

"How about we hold off on that for now?" Ella smiled kindly at me. "Why don't you and Sherlock finish your deductions? He wanted to list off the good things I wrote about you." I shifted uncomfortably.

"We don't have to," I mumbled. "Sherlock already won the other game so there's no need to keep playing."

"Go ahead," John insisted. "I don't mind this one." I rolled my eyes.

"Shall I start?" Sherlock wondered when I didn't say anything. I shrugged.

"Go ahead," Ella allowed.

"I might play this round," John decided.

"All right," Sherlock began. "Intelligent."

"I'm not that smart," I replied.

"You can keep up with Sherlock and that silly deductions game of his," John noted. "That's pretty smart in my book."

"Reilen, it's your turn," Ella instructed. I shrugged and shook my head.

"No idea."

"John?" Ella turned to him. John nodded.

"Kind," he listed.

"Right," I scoffed. "Because purposefully making you angry just because you got on my nerves, _that's_ kind."

"Aside from those times you are incredibly kind," John countered. "Everyone thinks so."

"Anything else?" Ella asked.

"Loyal," Sherlock offered. "To me, to John, really to anyone who you're friends with."

"Caring," John added. Ella smiled broadly at the three of us.

"You see?" she asked me. "You have lots of good qualities."

"I have four," I argued. "That's hardly a lot."

"Sometimes a small amount of good can outweigh all the bad."

"I'm not the great!" I cried. "Stop making it sound like I'm an amazing person when I know I'm not!"

"Why not?" John challenged. "I love you. Mary, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock—we all love you. We're family."

"Sherlock _tolerates_ me," I snapped. "You're his only friend, you know that. I know that. Hell, Lestrade knows that!"

"That's not true!" John swore. "Sherlock, tell her. Tell her that's not true."

"It really isn't," Sherlock agreed calmly while John seemed to be getting worked up all over again. "I do consider you to be one of my friends. I don't have many but you and John are my closest."

"Yes!" John concurred enthusiastically. "Yes, you see? Exactly." I sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of my nose.

"All right," I relented. "All right, fine. I'm not rubbish. Thank you for shoving that down my throat. Can we go now?"

"Our time's nearly up so I suppose it would be all right to end early today," Ella responded. "I'll see you at the same time on Friday. Until then I want you to start keeping a dream journal. Make sure you differentiate between dreams that are just your fears and those that actually happened. That way I can tell the difference and we can discuss them."

" _Fine_ ," I grumbled. John had insisted that I see Ella at least twice a week, at least for a while. Apparently intensive therapy would make things easier for me in the long run. We gathered our coats and headed out to the street.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" John questioned as he hailed a cab.

"I had fun," Sherlock answered. "That was unexpected."

"I was talking to Rei." John rolled his eyes at Sherlock.

"I guess not," I replied. "But only because Sherlock decided to play deductions." A cab pulled up the curb and we climbed inside.

"You're going to have to talk about it eventually," John reminded me. "Avoiding it won't do you any good." I turned away and stared out the window.

* * *

When we reached the flat Sherlock and I went inside while John went off to work. He'd taken the morning off to come with me to my appointment.

"I suppose seeing Ella won't be all that bad," I said as Sherlock walked into the kitchen. I plopped down on his chair and watched him make tea. I did a double take.

"What're you doing?" I questioned.

"What does it _look_ like?" he returned. "I'm making tea."

"Yes but _why_? You hardly ever make tea when there's someone else here to do it for you. Unless you're testing something on us. You'd better not put anything in my tea!" Sherlock chuckled and brought the tea tray into the living room.

"Just tea," he promised. He set down the tray and looked at me.

"What?" I asked.

"You're in my chair," he replied. "Why are you in my chair?"

"Because this is where I'm sitting." Sherlock shot me an annoyed look and sat down in John's chair.

"Why couldn't you sit in John's chair?" he grumbled.

"I like yours better," I said before taking a sip of my tea to hide the grin that was starting to spread across my face.

"What if I was to tell you to move?" he proposed. "What then?"

"You can ask all you want." I shrugged. "Might work, might not."

"Not _ask_ ," he corrected me. " _Tell_." I blinked and set my teacup back on its saucer.

"Then I'd move," I replied. "Do you want me to move?" Sherlock steepled his fingers and studied me.

"You wouldn't have before," he noted. "You would have made some quip about it and then ignored me."

"Well, I—I mean, it is _your_ chair so I really should sit somewhere else." I set my saucer and cup on the coffee table and got to my feet.

"Reilen, sit down," he replied.

"No, it's all right," I insisted. "I can sit in John's chair. Or—or maybe on the sofa." Sherlock got to his feet and moved forward so that he was right in front of me.

"Reilen," he repeated as he put his hands on my shoulders. "Sit down and finish your tea." I sank back onto his chair which earned me a smile from him.

"Sherlock, I'll give you your chair," I said. "I don't mind."

"I know you don't," he responded. "And I don't mind you sitting there. I was only giving you a hard time."

"Prat," I muttered. I went back to drinking my tea while Sherlock read the newspaper.

* * *

 _"_ _What aren't you telling me?" Sherlock asked. The two of us sat across from each other at the kitchen table._

 _"_ _Lots of things, I suppose," I answered. "But I don't want to talk about them just yet."_

 _"_ _No," Sherlock said. "Not about Moriarty. There's something else you're not telling me." I blinked at him._

 _"_ _Sherlock, there is nothing else. There's been nothing but Moriarty and what he did for weeks—for_ _ **months**_ _if you want to count all the time I was gone."_

 _"_ _I know you're lying," he said flatly. I crossed my arms and leaned into the back of my chair._

 _"_ _Fine, then," I snapped. "You're so smart._ _ **You**_ _tell me what I'm hiding." Sherlock fixed me with a piercing stare. I could almost_ _ **see**_ _the words of his deductions floating around my head. It happened to me as well, a product of our mind palaces._

 _"_ _Mary knows," he said after a minute. "You've told her. And John knows too. Even Molly? What the hell are you hiding that all of_ _ **them**_ _know about?"_

 _"_ _I never told Molly!" I groaned as I put my head down on the table. "She just realized it! And John just notices things!"  
"No he doesn't," Sherlock argued. "He hardly notices anything."_

 _"_ _Yes, Sherlock, he does. Things_ _ **you**_ _pay no attention to."_

 _"_ _Like what?" Sherlock demanded._

 _"_ _Like people's feelings!" I cried looking up at him. Sherlock blinked several times._

 _"_ _Feelings?" he repeated slowly._

 _"_ _Yes you idiot!" I shouted. "I have feelings for you! You never notice though and it never seems like the right time to bring it up and now after Moriarty—" I shrugged helplessly and shook my head._

 _"_ _Forget it," I muttered. "I'll never be able to tell you for real. The only place I can ever admit it to you is in here."_

 _"_ _Tell me what?" he pressed. I sighed and looked at him again._

 _"_ _I love you, Sherlock," I replied…_

I gasped and sat up only to groan in pain. I had fallen asleep curled up on Sherlock's chair and my neck had developed a crick.

"Have a nice nap?" Sherlock questioned. He was standing right beside the chair.

"What're you doing?" I mumbled tiredly. I couldn't even remember falling asleep. The last thing I remember was drinking my tea…

"SHERLOCK!" I shouted angrily. "You said there was nothing in the tea!"

"I may have fibbed a bit," he admitted. That explained why I hadn't seen him actually _drink_ any of his.

"Why would you knock me out!?" I demanded. "After what Moriarty did _why_ would you ever think that was okay!?"

"I didn't knock you out," he told me. "I gave you something to help you speak freely. You were in more of a twilight state than actual sleep."

" _Why_!?" I snarled.

"You were hiding something," he answered calmly. "I wanted to know what it was."

"Then why didn't you _just ask me_!?" I could feel the rage pouring off of me but Sherlock was unaffected as usual.

"You said yourself you could never tell me outside of your mind palace," he stated. I felt like my heart had dropped down to my knees.

' _That wasn't a dream,_ ' I realized and my eyes went wide.

"I—I actually said—" I stuttered.

"That you loved me?" Sherlock finished. "Yes. You did." I had never wanted to vanish into thin air so much in my life. I stared at him in complete shock. I didn't know what to say.

"Normally this would be the part where you would say something," he prodded. I pushed past him and ran up to John's bedroom, slamming the door and locking it behind me.

"Reilen!" Sherlock shouted after me. I heard him running up the stairs before there was a knock at the door.

"Reilen, open the door," he requested. "Can't we talk about this?"

"Go away!" I shouted angrily. "Just leave me alone!" I heard him sigh heavily and after a minute his footsteps faded as he walked back downstairs.

' _Probably went to get the spare key,_ ' I thought. I dragged John's dresser in front of the door to keep him out. I didn't know what to do or feel. I was angry, of course. Sherlock should know better than to drug me after what happened! I wanted to cry because I had a feeling that now that he knew how I felt he was going to completely shatter any fantasies I had of the two of us being together. And I was just the _tiniest_ bit relieved. Now it was out. He knew. I didn't have to keep wondering if he'd figured it out.

"I should have punched him," I muttered as hot, angry tears spilled from my eyes.

* * *

The doorknob ratted, waking me from the fitful sleep I had fallen into.

"Why's the door locked?" Mary's voice wondered from the other side of the door.

"I've got the key here somewhere," John answered. "Hang on." I sprang off of John's bed and hurriedly pushed the dresser back where it belonged.

"What the bloody hell was that!?" John yelped. I unlocked the door and threw it open.

"It was me, sorry," I said quickly. "I barricaded myself in here."

"Any particular reason?" John asked.

"To get away from Sherlock." Tears had welled up in my eyes before I had realized that I was still upset enough to cry. John and Mary both looked startled at my reaction.

"What's he done now?" John demanded.

"He—he drugged my tea," I sobbed. "And made me tell him what I'd been hiding from him."

"About Moriarty?" Mary questioned. I shook my head.

"No. About—about my feelings for him." Understanding showed on their faces.

"He knows you love him," Mary stated. I nodded and proceeded to turn into a blubbering mess.

"I'm gonna kill him," John ground out. Mary put her arms around me and allowed me to cry on her shoulder.

"John, just go talk to him," she replied calmly. "Get his side of the story." John stormed from the room and down the stairs.

"SHERLOCK WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!?" His voice thundered a moment later.

"Well, so much for talking to him," Mary sighed. "I can't believe Sherlock drugged you!" John continued to shout at Sherlock. The phrase "I _cannot believe you_!" popped up several times. I lifted my head from Mary's shoulder and dried my eyes. It was time to stop crying and face Sherlock although god knows I was dreading it.

"I'd better go stop John from killing him," I said miserably. "I might need him to make something to off myself with when he tells me how silly he finds my feelings for him."

"You'll do no such thing," Mary scolded me. "And if he breaks your heart John is going to be the least of his problems. Just let me change into a fresh shirt. Mine's a bit—damp." She was being kind, as usual. There was a very large wet spot covering the majority of her shoulder. Mary slipped into the bedroom, changed her shirt and then walked with me down to the living room. Mrs. Hudson stood by the living room door looking very concerned.

"What's Sherlock done?" she asked. "I've never heard John yell at him like that before." While Mary explained the situation I walked inside and found John and Sherlock in the kitchen. John stopped shouting when he saw me and Sherlock turned in his seat at the table.

"Come to yell at me too?" he asked moodily. "I don't think all of England heard John. Perhaps you can finish the job." Anger burned up my neck to the top of my head. I was sure there was steam rising from my hair. I clenched my shaking hands and fixed Sherlock with a hard stare.

"I _should_ yell at you," I bit out my voice barely above a whisper. Sherlock seemed uneasy over the lack of yelling.

"I _should_ ," I repeated. "You deserve it. You _drugged me_ , Sherlock. You made me do something I didn't want to do. After what Moriarty did—after _everything_ —how could you do that?"

"Why couldn't you just tell me how you felt?" he challenged. "I didn't ask you because I knew you would lie about it and pressing you would only make you more embarrassed and uncomfortable. I provided you with a way to speak your mind and not feel self-conscious about it."

" _That doesn't make it okay_!" John bellowed.

"John," Mrs. Hudson called quietly. "The neighbors."

"I couldn't tell you," I snapped at Sherlock. "I could never tell you. After the way you treated Molly—why would I think I would be any different? Besides, you're married to your work, I know that."

"I am married to my work," he agreed. "But _you_ are involved in my work. Molly is not. Molly doesn't assist me on cases aside from things that involve the morgue. And Molly's infatuation with me was full of dull, silly attempts at flirting. You, on the other hand, have never attempted to flirt with me or behave in any way outside of what I've come to consider as normal for you. You argue with me, contradict me, and enjoy proving me wrong. _You_ , Reilen, you have a mind that works like mine. We're incredibly similar, you and I."

"Meaning what?" I asked slowly not quite sure I believed where this was going.

"Meaning I think dating would be reasonable in our case." I stared at him. There was a stunned silence from the others.

"Reasonable," I repeated.

"Quite reasonable," he affirmed. "It's the logical progression of our relationship."

"Logical," John said sounding stunned. "Of course he goes for logic."

"Did you think I would be going off of emotions?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. John took a deep breath, looking annoyed.

"It's all right John," I assured him. "I'll be emotional enough for the both of us. Promise."

"Can I get on with my experiment now?" Sherlock questioned motioning to a jar in the open microwave and several pots on the stove. I glanced curiously at the contents. Eyeballs again. Why was it always eyeballs? We left him in the kitchen and congregated in the living room.

"Well this is just wonderful!" Mrs. Hudson rejoiced. "You and Sherlock! _Together_!" I smiled and sat down in Sherlock's chair, watching him move around the kitchen.

"I'm worried though," John spoke up. We all looked at him. Sherlock paused for a minute looking like he was thinking about something but I could tell he was listening.

"You love him, Rei, we all know you do," John continued. "He said himself he's not doing this for anything other than it seems reasonable. Can you really stay in a relationship like that? One where Sherlock doesn't love you back?" I pondered this for a minute noting that Sherlock was still listening, waiting for my answer. I thought a bit longer than necessary.

' _Let him squirm,_ ' I told myself. ' _Payback for earlier._ ' He still hadn't moved. He really wanted to know what I was going to say, it seemed.

"I was pretty much doing that before, wasn't I?" I answered. "Sherlock just didn't realize it. But I think he could love me—maybe—if I give him some time. He's not completely emotionless, John. He really does love all of us."

"But that's different," John pointed out. "We're talking about _romantic_ love."

"Well he certainly had that going on with The Woman," I reminded him. "Or it could've been. Eventually." Sherlock never called Irene Adler by her name. She was always just The Woman. Mycroft proposed that it was because she was the only woman that mattered to him since she was the only one who was any match for him. Lucky for me she had left the England over a year ago. Sherlock hadn't mentioned her since. And even Mycroft had conceded that I was a very good match against Sherlock's mind.

"I'm not really sure that counts," John argued. I sighed exasperatedly.

" _None_ of it matters John," I told him. "We'll make it work. We're not exactly _normal_ so our relationship won't follow what other relationships look like. It certainly won't look anything like what you have with Mary or even what Molly has with Tom. I'm fine with that."

"If you're sure," he said.

"I am," I replied. Sherlock began moving again. Mary and I exchanged knowing grins. Things were going to get very interesting.


	13. Opening the Door

Chapter 13: Opening the Door

"Do you really think it's wise to get into a relationship right now?" Ella questioned on Friday when we showed up for my appointment. John had told her right off that Sherlock and I were dating when she asked if anything new had happened during the last few days.

"I don't see the problem," Sherlock stated.

"It might be something Reilen can't handle quite yet," she explained. "Emotionally, she might not be ready for it."

"She's fine," Sherlock decided. Ella looked over at me.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I'm fine. We're fine. It's—fine."

"Well, unless you count the fact that Sherlock drugged her," John said. "Other than that, yeah, they're fine." Sherlock glared at John.

"You _drugged_ Reilen?" Ella stared at Sherlock in disbelief.

"She was hiding something." He shrugged. "I needed to find out what it was."

"Asking her wasn't an option?"

"She would have lied."

"It's fine, Ella," I assured her. "He does this sort of thing all the time. He's likes experimenting on me and John. Most of the time we don't even notice. We've sorted it out." John shook his head vehemently.

"No," he barked. "No! Don't you cover this up for him! You were a mess over it! You'd barricaded yourself in my room and when Mary and I came up you started crying!" I looked away from him and frowned at the wall.

"Did you decide it was all right because Sherlock agreed to date you?" Ella asked. I shook my head and turned to glare at her.

"No!" I spat. "I was angry at him, of course! But what's being angry at him going to do?"

"Nothing really," Sherlock supplied. I nodded in agreement.

"Why don't we talk about what you went through after Moriarty kidnapped you?" Ella suggested still seeming unconvinced that my dating Sherlock was in my best interest.

"How about we don't?" I countered.

"Reilen, we really ought to address this now before it causes serious psychological issues."

"Well, I can't," I said with a shrug. "I've locked everything behind a door in my mind palace."

"Can't you _open_ the door?" she pointed out.

"Can and willing to are two different things," I snapped. "Of course I _can_ but I have desire to do so." Ella sighed and seemed to be resisting the urge to massage her temples.

"Reilen, you _must_ do these things," she insisted. "It's the only way to go forward in your treatment." I looked over at John and he nodded encouragingly. I turned to Sherlock and he gave me a small smile.

"Go on," he urged. "I'm right here." I closed my eyes and sank into my mind palace.

"What do you want me to find?" I asked as walked toward the door at the end of the hall.

"Just tell us about the first thing that pops out at you," she decided.

' _You mean the first thing that_ _ **attacks**_ _me,_ ' I thought wearily as I reached the door. I watched my hand unlock the door and reach out to the doorknob…

 _"_ _Don't go in there," Sherlock warned. I turned to see him standing beside me._

 _"_ _Haven't got much of a choice at the moment," I replied. "Besides, you're here so I'll be okay."_

 _"_ _I can't go in there with you," he reminded me. "You'll be on your own."_

 _"_ _Well you're in Ella's office with me so that's good enough."_

 _"_ _You're going to regret it," he said. I sighed heavily and gripped the doorknob._

 _"_ _I know." I yanked the door open and a hand reached out and yanked me inside._

 _"_ _Hello my dear," Moriarty sneered as he held me so that our faces were inches apart. "I've_ _ **missed**_ _you."_

 _"_ _Get off!" I ordered as I shoved him away. I looked frantically around the infinite darkness._

 _'_ _ **Find something,**_ _' I told myself. '_ _ **Something small. Something easy to deal with.**_ _'_

 _"_ _You know better than that!" he snarled. His hand snaked out and he hit me hard enough to knock me to the floor. Before I could get up he strode forward and kicked me in the ribs._

 _"_ _Someone's forgotten their place!" he singsonged. "Haven't they!?"_

 _"_ _ **No**_ _!" I cried out. "No I haven't! I swear!" The room melted away and was replaced with the basement. Moriarty slammed a metal pipe down on my ribs. My breath hissed out from between my teeth and I couldn't draw another one in. I'd felt something crack. Maybe a rib was broken. Maybe my lung was punctured. Moriarty was kicking me again. I knew he would never hit me too many times with the pipe. He couldn't risk killing me yet. His foot connected with my nose and blood began pouring over my lips._

 _"_ _ **PLEASE**_ _!" I begged. "_ _ **STOP**_ _!" Moriarty chuckled darkly,_

 _"_ _You know the magic words little mouse. Say them and I'll consider stopping."_

 _"_ _Please…" I sobbed. "Please stop, M—Master…please. I'm s—s—s—sorry!"_

"Reilen!" Sherlock's voice echoed around the room.

 _"_ _Please stop…" I whimpered. "I'll be good, Master. I promise. I won't do it again."_

"Reilen!" Sherlock called again. "Come back now."

 _"_ _What's_ _ **he**_ _want?" Moriarty groaned. "I was having fun!_ _ **GO AWAY**_ _Sherlock!" He turned away from me to shout at the ceiling. The basement faded back into the dark room._

 _"_ _Sherlock." I searched the darkness for him but saw nothing except for a sliver of light showing where the door was._

" _Reilen_!" Sherlock's voice was more insistent now.

 _"_ _Go on," Moriarty said in a soft silky voice right in my ear. "If you can." I clambered to my feet and scrambled out of the room as fast as I could. I slammed the door, locked it, and braced my back against it fully expecting Moriarty to slam against it and break it down._

 _"_ _He's locked up now," Sherlock said appearing in front of me. "You better get back." I tore down the hallway to the light at the other end…_

With a cry my eyes snapped open. I was huddled in the corner of the room. How had I gotten here? My arms encircled my head like I was trying to protect my face.

"Reilen," Sherlock said quietly. My eye flew to him and I launched myself at him.

" _Sherlock_ ," I whimpered. I clung to him, desperate for something to remind me that I was safe, that Moriarty wasn't anywhere except in my head. Sherlock's arms wrapped around me and held me tightly.

"It's all right," he murmured. "I'm here. It's all right."

"That was very good, Reilen," Ella said. "Now why don't we try—"

" _No_ ," Sherlock cut her off abruptly. "We're done for the day."

"Sherlock, we still have another hour," she pointed out. He pulled me to my feet and went to collect our coats.

"We're done for the day," he repeated giving Ella a cold stare. She turned to John, clearly at a loss.

"Sherlock, Rei will be fine," he tried. "She did really well. She won't have to open the door again today, right Ella?" She nodded in agreement.

"I only want to talk about it in more detail." Sherlock helped me into my coat and wrapped my scarf around my neck before getting into his own coat and scarf.

"Not today," he replied. "C'mon, John." He ushered me out of the office and by the time we had crossed the lobby John was beside us.

"This isn't going to work if you drag her out every time she has to face something difficult," John hissed at Sherlock. Sherlock said nothing as we reached the street, hailed a cab, and rode back to Baker Street.

* * *

"Sherlock, say something," John demanded as we walked into the flat.

"Reilen was in no state to continue today," Sherlock responded. "She did as Ella asked and look what's happened." He gestured to where I was sitting on the sofa staring dully at the coffee table.

"It'll get better," John promised. "I know it will. She just has to face what happened. She can't do that if you let her run away."

"She's _not ready_ , John!" Sherlock shouted. "Can't you see that!?"

"I'm going to bed," I said as I stood and walked between them.

"It's the middle of the afternoon," John argued. I shrugged and went down the hall into Sherlock's room. I settled down on top of the covers and curled into a ball.


	14. A Nice Domestic Moment

Chapter 14: A Nice Domestic Moment

When I woke up the room was dark and I could see street lamps glowing between the crack in the curtains. There was a weight across my ribs and I rolled over to find Sherlock beside me, one arm flung over my ribs. I wondered when he had come in. There was no sound in the flat so it must have been late enough for everyone to be in bed.

' _I must really be out of it to have slept so long,_ ' I realized. And Sherlock must have insisted that John and Mary leave me alone.

Gingerly, I lifted Sherlock's arm off of me and slipped out of the room. The flat was dark except for the light over the kitchen sink. My mobile was lying on the table and a text from John was showing on the screen.

\- - Rei, I'm staying at Mary's tonight. Sherlock and I had a bit of a row after you went to bed and...well, I'll be back in the morning. Mary made dinner and left a plate for you in the fridge. Please eat it. I hope you're feeling better. See you tomorrow. – John

The clock on my home screen showed that it was just past eleven-thirty. John might still be up. In any case I knew I should text him back and let him know I was all right.

\- - John, I'm sorry I caused a row with you and Sherlock. I hadn't meant to. Please don't be mad at him for too long. You know how he gets. Tell Mary I said thank you for the dinner plate. I'm heating it up now. I'm feeling…okay…I guess. I'm sure things will be better tomorrow.

I went to the fridge and found the tin foil covered plate on one of the shelves. I popped it in the microwave and had just set the cook time when my mobile buzzed. Another text from John.

\- - Don't worry about me and Sherlock. We'll get it sorted out. We always do. I'm glad you're eating and Mary says you're quite welcome. Get some sleep after you've finished…or some more sleep.

\- - Will do. 'Night, John. 'Night Mary.

\- - 'Night Rei. Sleep tight.

The microwave beeped and I sat down at the table with my food. It was odd, eating so late at night and by myself. I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten dinner alone.

' _At least not the last time in the flat,_ ' I reminded myself. I felt a chill run down my spine as I remembered sitting alone in the basement with the small bowl of—whatever Moriarty had decided to feed me. I suddenly didn't want to eat alone. A quick examination of the fridge showed me that there were more leftover in containers so I made up another plate and warmed it up while I set the table. Once that was done and the second plate was on the table and I went to Sherlock's room.

"Sherlock," I called softly as I shook his shoulder. "Sherlock, wake up."

"Mmm…what?" he mumbled as he sat up. "What is it?"

"Come eat dinner with me," I requested. Sherlock blinked hard and yawned.

"I already ate," he replied. "Go back to sleep."

"Yes, but that was hours ago and I haven't had dinner yet," I reminded him.

"So go eat," he said grouchily as he flopped back down on his pillow. "What's that got to do with me?"

"I want you to eat with me," I explained. "I—I don't want to eat alone. I made you a plate and everything." He groaned and muttered something in which the only words I could understand were "not now", "not hungry", and "been up for days".

"Oh," I replied dejectedly. "All right. 'Night." I trudged back into the kitchen and sat back down at the table. I couldn't be angry with him. It _was_ close to midnight after all and if he had woken me up in the middle of the night to eat— _anything_ I would have chucked my pillow at him. I wondered briefly how Mary and John or Molly and Tom would have handled that situation. Would they have gotten up even though it was late and they probably weren't hungry?

"It's no use comparing," I muttered to myself. "Sherlock and I aren't like the rest of them. I know that." Still, I couldn't help feeling a little sad that he wouldn't join me. Tears prickled at the backs of my eyes but I held my breath until they went away.

"You even made tea. How domestic." Sherlock's voice made me jump. He was standing behind me, surveying the table.

"What—what're you doing?" I questioned as he sat down across from me.

"Eating with you?" He raised his eyebrow at me. "You did just ask me to."

"But—but—you—you said you didn't want to," I sputtered.

"I changed my mind," Sherlock replied as he took a bite of his food. I blinked at him as he continued to eat.

"Eat your dinner, Reilen," he instructed.

"Okay," I said. We ate in relative silence. Sherlock asked a few questions but mostly, we didn't say much. That was fine with me. All I really wanted was the company.

"I'm gonna watch some telly," I decided after I had cleaned up kitchen. "Are you going back to bed?" Sherlock considered this for a minute.

"No, I suppose I'll join you." We walked into the living room and I grabbed the remote off of the bookcase. Our television wasn't very big; it fit on the bookcase (although the shelf above it had to be moved up quite a bit). One of John's ex-girlfriends had complained that we didn't have a larger one to which we had pointed out that we didn't watch it much so the size was unimportant.

Sherlock dropped onto his chair as I began flipping through the channels.

"What're you in the mood for?" I asked glancing over at him.

"Anything really," he replied. "I'm not picky."

"Yes you are," I scoffed. "How about this?" I stopped on Family Guy which ran on a channel that showed more mature cartoons late at night. Sherlock squinted at the screen.

"Fine," he agreed. I grabbed a throw pillow off of John's chair and settled down on the floor with my back against Sherlock's chair.

"That's not going to be very comfortable," he noted. I shrugged and kept my eyes on the screen.

"I don't mind," I replied. After about five minutes my feet had gone to sleep from sitting cross-legged and my back was starting to hurt even with the pillow between me and the chair. Sherlock's hand touched the top of my head and I turned to look at him.

"Let's go sit on the sofa," he suggested.

"Oh thank god," I groaned. "I've lost feeling in my legs." He chuckled and pulled me to my feet which were, of course, asleep and putting weight on them caused me to lose my footing and fall right into Sherlock. The tingling feeling in my feet became painful and shot up to my knees.

"Sorry!" I squeaked. "Pins and needles!" I began jumping on the balls of my feet. He looked at me like he thought I had lost my mind.

"It helps!" I snapped. In a minute, the painful tingling went away and I could stop bouncing.

"Can we sit down now?" Sherlock asked. I nodded and we moved to the sofa. I sat with a gap between us like I usually did when sat here together. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sherlock look over at me. With no warning his arm wrapped around my shoulders and he pulled me against his side.

"What—!?" I yelped.

"Hush, you're missing the show," he responded. Tentatively, I shifted so that I was more comfortable and closer to him. His arm tightened around me though he never took his eyes off of the television. Feeling emboldened by his response I laid my head on his shoulder.

"We should find a case soon," I said as a commercial came on.

"You think so?" he asked.

"Yeah," I sighed. "We're bored."

"Are we?" I could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Bored enough to watch late night telly," I reasoned.

"I'll see if John's got any clients from his blog," he decided.

"There's bound to be more than enough to choose from," I said. "You haven't had a case in months." Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"Tomorrow then," he replied.

"Tomorrow," I repeated and settled down as the show came back on.

* * *

I woke to the sounds of voices and footsteps coming from the stairwell. John had returned and Mrs. Hudson was lecturing him about fighting with Sherlock. I blinked the sleep from my eyes and realized that Sherlock and I were now lying down even though I last remembered being in a sitting position. I must have been dead asleep if Sherlock had been able to maneuver me into this position without waking me. I was curled on my side with my back against the back of the sofa while Sherlock was on his back with one arm around me, holding me to him, and the other dangling off of the sofa. The sofa wasn't really large enough for two people to lay on it comfortably so I wasn't sure why Sherlock hadn't woken me and told me to go to bed in his room. Or just gone in there himself.

"Are they not up yet?" John's voice asked as he came into the living room. " _Oh_." At the sound of John's voice Sherlock jerked awake and the two of us sat up.

"Morning," he said to all of us as he rubbed at his eyes.

"Moring," John replied slowly looking between the two of us like he couldn't figure out what was going on.

"We fell asleep watching television," Sherlock supplied. He nodded to said television which was still on.

"You watched television like that?" John asked. Sherlock swung his legs off the sofa and stood up.

"Of course not," he answered. "Reilen fell asleep so I moved us into a more comfortable position at which point I feel asleep as well." Mrs. Hudson was beaming at us like she was about to burst into tears of happiness.

"I'm—um—going to change my clothes," I said gesturing to the fact that I was still in my clothes from yesterday. "Sherlock? A case?"

"Right, yes," he remembered. "John, we need a case." I left them in living room and slipped upstairs. I took several minutes to take deep breathes and calm the rush of giddiness that was flooding my system.

' _I'm overacting, as usual,_ ' I scolded myself. ' _We_ _ **are**_ _dating after all._ ' And he did sleep in his bed with me most nights ever since the night I had had the nightmare about drowning. I grabbed a clean set of clothes, changed, and brushed my hair before redoing my ponytail.

"She's _not_ ready for a case!" John was insisting when I came back downstairs.

"I think I can decide that for myself, thanks," I said. John and Sherlock turned to me.

"After what happened yesterday?" John demanded. I sighed and threw my arms out to the sides in exasperation.

"I doubt I'll need to open the door during a _case_ ," I pointed out. "And it doesn't have to be some big newsworthy thing. Just something small."

"Why the sudden need to go on a case?" he asked.

"We're bored." I shrugged.

" _We_?" He turned to Sherlock clearly thinking that he had something to do with this.

"It was her idea," he swore pointing at me. I made a face and stuck my tongue out at him. He made a face back at me. To be perfectly honest, when John accused us of being children he had a valid point.

"Your idea?" John asked skeptically.

"Yes," I replied. "My idea."

"You're not just saying you're bored because he is?" He raised he eyebrows at me. " _Hm_? To make him happy?"

"Please, John," I scoffed. "I do have a mind of my own. I don't just do whatever Sherlock wants or what I think will make happy. I _want_ to go on a case because _I'm_ bored."

"Well, maybe I should check with Ella—" he began.

"Call her and I'll break your phone," I snapped. "I don't need permission to do what I want!" John glanced at Sherlock who was looking at me with something that resembled pride.

"Fine," he snapped back. He stomped over to the desk which was in between the windows and sat down at his laptop.

"Something good, preferably," Sherlock requested and received a huff in return. We shrugged at each other and he went to sit in his chair. He grabbed the newspaper off the coffee table, which John must have brought in with him, and began reading it.

"Rei, did you eat breakfast?" John asked as he scrolled through his email.

"No," I said. "I'm not hungry." I sat on the floor against Sherlock's chair like I had the night before except that I left my legs stretched out in front of me to avoid having them fall asleep again.

"We've talked about this," John reminded me. "You _have_ to eat."

"I _just_ got up," I groaned. "I'm not hungry yet. Give me another half an hour."

"All right," he allowed. I rolled my eyes and leaned my head back against the chair. I felt Sherlock twirling the end of my ponytail around his fingers. My shoulders tensed with panic.

 _Moriarty twisted my braid around his hand tighter and tighter…_

I closed my eyes and counted to ten as I took several deep breathes. It wasn't Sherlock's fault. He had no idea that doing that would trigger a panic attack.

' _It's_ _ **Sherlock**_ _. It's just Sherlock. It's_ _ **fine**_ _. I'm fine._ ' When the panic faded I let myself open my eyes. Sherlock's hand moved to cradle the back of my neck as he leaned forward.

"Well done," he whispered in my ear. Quickly, before I could lose my nerve, I turned to face him and planted a kiss on his lips.

"Thanks," I whispered back. He gave me a small smile and went back to reading the paper.

"Find anything yet?" he asked John.

"I think so," he answered. "A manager in a local theater wants to find out who's sabotaging the plays."

"Tell them to come in," Sherlock said. John began typing a reply.

"Should be easy to solve," I commented. "Probably just some jealous actor who didn't get the leading role."

"Most likely," Sherlock agreed. "A nice easy case for your first day back." I chuckled.

"Well let's hope it's at least a _little_ interesting. Otherwise we'll still be bored." Sherlock chuckled as well.

"True." I thought I heard John mutter "made for each other" under his breath.


	15. Shattered Calm

Chapter 15: Shattered Calm

The cases started pouring in after that. Once people figured out that Sherlock was back in business there was a near constant stream of clients. My nightmares lessened from being an every night occurrence to maybe one a week and I was doing better in therapy too. I had started talking more about what had happened and opening the door wasn't quite the challenge it used to be. There were still some things I didn't talk about. There had been a whole slew of events that John and Sherlock hadn't seen and I still didn't feel ready to address them. If Ella asked me to open the door I just picked something else, _anything else_.

* * *

"What're you doing?" John questioned as I carried an armful of my clothes down from his room. This was my third such trip and it seemed he was finally wondering what was going on.

"Moving my stuff," I answered. John turned in his chair to face me.

" _Moving_?" he repeated. "To where?"

"Sherlock's room," I replied. "He said it was about time I stopped sharing a room with you. What with our three month anniversary coming up and all."

"She's moving into your room?" he asked Sherlock.

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed. "It's what couples do, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is," John agreed. "I just never thought the two of you would actually do it."

"We're not _that_ abnormal," I scoffed. "I've got a few more loads and then I'll be done."

"Aren't you going to help?" John asked Sherlock. Sherlock looked up from tuning his violin.

"What for?" he wondered. "She didn't ask for my help. They're just clothes, anyway. They're hardly heavy."

"I've got it John," I assured him as I tried not to choke on my laughter. "Don't worry."

"I really don't understand you two," he muttered.

"And you probably never will," I pointed out.

* * *

"I'm doing great," I told Ella that Friday. "Hardly any nightmares or panic attacks. Oh! And we've had at least three cases a week lately." I told her about how Sherlock had been on some really big cases as well. He and John had been in the paper a lot recently. Even though I was always there for the cases I never let the reporters take my picture. I had never been one for the spotlight and after Moriarty I didn't want to draw attention to myself. But Sherlock had been pretty famous before I had been kidnapped. He had been called the Reichenbach Hero because he had recovered a stolen painting. Everyone was happy that he was solving cases again.

"That's wonderful," she agreed enthusiastically. "And how are you and Sherlock doing? As a couple?"

"Great?" I replied with a questioning look at Sherlock who nodded in agreement.

"Great," I repeated with more confidence.

"You need to check with him to know how you're doing?" she asked. I shrugged.

"I've never had a boyfriend before and our relationship is exactly— _normal_ ," I explained. "So—yes, I have to check with him sometimes just to make sure we're on the same page."

"Are you usually?" I nodded. Ella tapped her pen against her chin, pondering something.

"John, forgive me if this next question is a bit too much information for you," she began after a minute. "How are you and Sherlock doing— _intimately_?" Sherlock and I both jerked like the question had literally shocked us.

"Definitely too much information," John chuckled. "Shall I stuff my fingers in my ears?" He grinned good naturedly at me.

"No—well, I mean there's nothing to—" I stumbled over my words becoming more flustered as I tried to explain myself. "We—we _haven't_ been."

"No?" Ella questioned. I looked helplessly over at Sherlock feeling like we were failing some sort of relationship test.

"No," he stated calmly as he put his hand over one of mine.

"What have you done?" she wanted to know.

"I hardly think that's any of _your_ business," he sniped testily. Ella was unfazed by his tone.

"Have the two of you made out at all?" I was mortified. I really didn't think my face could turn a brighter shade of red.

' _We're_ _ **definitely**_ _failing as a couple,_ ' I groaned internally. ' _We've done_ _ **nothing**_ _! Absolutely nothing!_ '

"We hold hands," Sherlock listed. "Kiss often enough, cuddle when it is appropriate, and sleep in the same bed."

"The kissing's nothing serious, I can tell you that," John said. He wasn't being judgmental, just stating a fact.

"Why haven't you done anything more that?" she asked. She already knew the answer to that. Everyone knew the answer to that.

"I'm not ready," I mumbled. "Because of—because of everything."

"And you're all right with that?" she asked Sherlock.

"Why wouldn't I be?" His hand tightened around mine ever so slightly which I took to mean he was reassuring me that everything was fine. "Why would I want to pressure Reilen into something she isn't ready for?"

"I know plenty of men who wouldn't be so understanding about that," she replied.

"Well, it's fortunate that Reilen isn't dating them, isn't it?" he quipped. "I think it's time for us to be going." I looked over at the clock on the wall and saw with relief that he was right.

"I'll see you next week," Ella said to me with a smile. I mumbled a goodbye and scurried from the office.

"The _nerve_ of that woman!" I fumed as we climbed into our cab. "Somethings are none of her business!"

"She _is_ your therapist," John replied. "It's her job to ask questions like that. When they're relevant, of course."

"Well my sex life or lack thereof isn't!" I hissed low enough that I hoped the cabbie wouldn't hear.

"After what Moriarty did she must think it is," John said. "I mean, she has to see if you're getting over that—particular issue."

"What?" I questioned. "Like I'm afraid of it?" John looked at me with a curious expression.

"Aren't you?"

"I don't think so." I shrugged. "I don't know."

We reached the flat and Mrs. Hudson hurried out of her flat to meet us in the front hallway.

"Reilen, dear, a package came for you," she said handing me a bubble envelope.

"Thanks." I smiled at her and headed upstairs.

"Who's it from?" John asked.

"No idea," I replied. "There's no return address." I tore open the envelope and pulled out a blank DVD case.

"Um—okay?" I laughed. "What the hell does this mean?"

"Open it," John answered. Grinning, assuming someone was playing a joke, I opened the case. My eyes went wide and I threw the case to the floor.

"Reilen?" Sherlock was at my side instantly. "What is it?" John picked up the case and his face went white.

"Jesus, Sherlock," he gasped. "Look." Sherlock moved over to examine the contents of the case. His eyes went wide as well. Inside the case was a DVD. Written on the disc were four words: **REMEMBER THIS, LITTLE MOUSE?**

John's phone began ringing making me and him jump.

"Ella," he answered. "You _what_? Yes, of course. We'll be right there." He hung up and turned to me and Sherlock.

"Ella got one too," he explained. "She wants us back at her office." Sherlock nodded and led us back outside.

* * *

I could hardly breathe the whole way back to Ella's. This couldn't be happening. That DVD—if it was what I thought it was—was going to destroy everything I had worked so hard for.

"This arrived right after you left," Ella said when we rushed into her office. "I—I watched the beginning without knowing—" She held out the case to us. On the disc was written: **YOU SHOULD SEE THIS**.

"We got one too," John told her. "What's on it? Reilen reacted like a snake bit her when she saw it."

"It's the things I never told you about," I answered in a tiny voice. "The things you didn't see."

"What does that mean?" John demanded.

"Just—just watch it," I whimpered. "Just get it over with." Ella put the disc into her DVD player. A shot of a luxurious room appeared on the screen. Moriarty's bedroom. There was a scuffling sound off screen and then Sebastian dragged me into view.

 _"_ _Please don't!" I begged as Sebastian shoved me to the floor._

 _"_ _Don't_ _ **what**_ _?" Moriarty questioned as he strode into the frame._

 _"_ _Don't hit me," I pleaded. "I—I can't take it anymore." Sebastian laughed._

 _"_ _Rather have a "special" punishment, huh?" he sneered. I cringed and scrambled away from him._

 _"_ _N—No." Moriarty rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger._

 _"_ _Well," he commented slowly. "I suppose there're_ _ **other things**_ _you could do. Things that would be relatively painless."_

"Turn it off," I begged. "Ella, _please turn it off_." Sherlock's hands closed around my shoulders and I flinched as if he had struck me.

"I agree," he added. "Turn it off."

"Sherlock, we need to see this," Ella insisted. "It will help. I promise."

 _"_ _What sort of things?" I asked watching him move toward me with apprehension._

 _"_ _Nothing you won't enjoy doing by the time we're done," Moriarty replied. "For example, ever given a blow job?" His hands moved to his belt buckle._

" _Turn it off_!" Sherlock barked. He swooped forward and slammed his hand on the power button. The DVD player turned off and the screen went black.

"Oh my god," John breathed. "Oh my god. Oh my god." I didn't know if I wanted to cry or throw up.

"Why would he send this to Reilen?" Ella questioned sounding shaken. "Why send one to me?"

"To intimidate her," Sherlock answered in a low voice. "To continue to break her."

"It's working," I whimpered. Sherlock came back to me and pulled me into his arms. He didn't speak, just held me. John's phone rang.

"Mary?" he asked in a gruff voice. "What? What's wrong? Slow down. _Oh Jesus_ —are—are you serious? Go to the flat. We'll be there soon." He hung up and grabbed the remote for the small television that Ella kept in her office.

"It's all over the news," he said as he turned the channel to a news station.

 **BREAKING NEWS: GRAPHIC VIDEO OF VIOLENT ATTACK MAILED TO NEWS OUTLETS**

It wasn't the video he had sent to us and to Ella; just video of some of the things that had been filmed when I was in the basement. The reporters were going on about a note that had been sent with the video describing the circumstances in the footage.

"James Moriarty is claiming responsibility for this attack on a young woman named Reilen Turner. He has been arrested and taken into custody." _This couldn't be happening_.

* * *

 _I ran down the hallway, stumbling and half blind with tears. I had to hide. I had to get far away from what was happening. The lights in the hallway were going out one by one like a great monster was chasing me and taking the light with it. I didn't want to think about what would happen if I was still in the hallway when all the lights went out. Ahead of me, the black door was open._

 _"_ _No!" I gasped as I stopped dead. "_ _ **No**_ _!" Moriarty stepped out of the room, a maniacal grin on his face._ _ **I had to find Sherlock.**_ _The room with the pale green door was just ahead of me but now the lights were going out faster and Moriarty was coming toward me bringing the darkness from his room with him. I sprinted forward and threw open the door._

 _"_ _Sherlock!" I shouted. "Help!" When I slammed the door shut I felt a 'thud' against the door but it stayed closed._

 _"_ _Reilen," Moriarty's voice sang in a menacing tone. "Come out and play!"_

 _"_ _Ignore him." Sherlock appeared by the window and picked up his violin._

 _"_ _Everything's fallen apart," I sobbed as I sank to the floor. "Why is this happening? Why is he doing this? Why can't he just_ _ **leave me alone**_ _!?"_

 _"_ _It will be all right," Sherlock promised. "I'm here now." He began playing his violin and I shut my eyes. It would be all right. I was safe as long as I stayed in here…_

"Reilen?" John's voice questioned worriedly. "Can you hear me? Rei?" I blinked and saw him hovering over me, shining a penlight in my eyes. Why was I lying down? Had I fainted?

"John?" I wondered. "What happened?"

"Thank god," he sighed. "She's back." I sat up and realized we were in our living room. I didn't even remember returning to the flat.

"What happened?" I asked again.

"We don't really know," Mary replied coming over and handing me a glass of water. "John said one minute you were hyperventilating and the next you went completely blank. You wouldn't respond to anything. Drink that." She nodded to glass in my hand. Obediently, I took several big gulps.

"Do you remember any of that?" John asked. I shook my head.

"I remember the news," I recalled. "And then I was here." Sherlock strode into the room, walked right past John and Mary, and stopped in front of me.

"Did you close the door?" he wanted to know. I shook my head not even questioning how he knew it was open in the first place.

"I had to hide," I answered. "He got out. Everything's dark now."

"You have to go back and close the door," Sherlock instructed. "You have to lock him up again."

"Wait," John stopped me before I could think of a response (although it would mostly have consisted of the word NO). "I don't understand. Were you in your mind palace this whole time?" I nodded.

"I just sort of—went there," I tried to explain. "I hadn't meant to."

"Your mind was overwhelmed," Sherlock said. "It shut down. The psychological term is mental detachment. Your mind was so flooded with fear that you escaped the only way you could." It sounded so simple when he said it.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs made us all turn.

"That'll be Lestrade and Mycroft," Sherlock guessed. A moment later both men walked into the flat with a very worried Mrs. Hudson behind them.

"All that awful footage on the news," she was saying. "How could anyone be so insensitive? They should have never put that on the television for everyone to see!"

"Yeah well, all they care about is getting a big story," Lestrade replied.

"Well they've got one," Mycroft pointed out. "And now all of London knows what he's done and that he's in custody. They'll want a public trial."

" _No_ ," John said firmly. "Absolutely not. We're not putting Rei through that."

"You'll have no choice, I'm afraid," Mycroft sighed. "There's really nothing I can do at this point."

"But what about Reilen?" Mary demanded. "Doesn't she have the right to not be publically tormented by Moriarty?"

"Of course," Mycroft agreed. "But as she is the only victim of a very heinous crime she will most likely be required to testify even if she would rather not."

"So Moriarty gets to keep attacking her," John huffed. "Lovely."

"The trial won't be for several weeks, at least," Lestrade offered. "And the prosecutor will help make it easier on her any way they can." I could hear violin music growing louder in my head. I wanted to hide. I wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Let us know when things get to that point, would you, brother dear?" Sherlock requested as his picked up his violin.

"Sherlock, I think there's more to talk about," Lestrade protested. "I need to get more information from Reilen about what was in that video. I need more evidence to nail the bastard with."

"Perhaps later," Sherlock insisted looking pointedly at Mycroft before glancing over at me. Mycroft followed his younger brother's gaze and nodded.

"Yes, that can all be dealt with later," he agreed. "And I'll let you know when the trial is set to start." He turned and left the flat and after a minute Lestrade followed.

"Reilen," Sherlock called drawing my attention to him. " _Stay here_." I swallowed hard and managed a tiny nod.

"Stay here?" John looked confused. "She's not gone anywhere. What's that supposed to mean?" Sherlock began playing his violin and gradually it drowned out the music playing in my head.

"Sherlock?" John questioned still looking confused.

"Leave it, John," Mary said quietly. "It's all right." Sherlock was watching me and when I looked up at him I saw my fear mirrored in his eyes.


	16. The Trial

Chapter 16: The Trial

It was nearly two months and the beginning of May before the trial began. And even then it was nearly the end of May before I had to testify. I had managed to shut and lock the door at the end of the hallway but it had involved a lot of panicking and I had spent a whole hour sobbing in Sherlock's— _our_ —room after it was done. To his credit, Sherlock had stayed with me the whole time and had played his violin for me afterwards until I was done crying.

John and Sherlock went to the trial every day but I stayed out of court until it was time for me to testify. Sherlock had also been called as a witness. The reporters were having a field day with all of this.

* * *

"Ready?" John asked as he, Mary, Sherlock, and I got ready to leave the flat to go to court.

"Yes," Sherlock answered.

"Rei?" John asked. I nodded. He took a deep breath and then opened the door. Outside, police were holding back the crowds of reporters who were shouting questions at us.

"Get in," John directed pointing to Lestrade's car. Sherlock and I climbed into one side while John and Mary went around the back of the car to climb in the other side. Lestrade pulled away from the curb and sped down the street with the sirens wailing.

"It'll be okay," John said to me. "Just answer their questions. Don't look at Moriarty. Look at Sherlock or me or Mary."

"I know," I replied. John leaned around me to look at Sherlock.

"Remember," he began.

"Yes," Sherlock said instantly.

" _Remember_ ," John began again insistently.

"Yes," Sherlock said again even before John had finished that one word. John looked out Mary's window in frustration and then turned back.

"Remember what they told you," he said quickly. "Don't try to be clever—"

"No," Sherlock said over him.

"And _please_ just keep it simple and brief," John finished.

"God forbid one of the star witnesses at the trial should come across as intelligent," Sherlock scoffed.

"'Intelligent', fine," John allowed. "Let's give 'smart-arse' a wide berth." There was a pause.

"I'll just be myself," Sherlock decided.

"Are you listening to me!?" John demanded clearly irritated now. "We can't have a repeat of last time! This is important! If you get thrown in jail again—"

"Don't worry John," Sherlock said calmly. "It'll be fine. I promise to behave." The car stopped at the back of the courthouse. Thankfully, it had been arranged for us to go in away from the reporters. We hurried inside and into the corridor where we would wait for our turn in the courtroom.

"I've got to go to the bathroom," I told the others quietly before slipping into the women's restroom. The door opened a moment later and Sherlock followed me in.

"What're you doing!?" I yelped in alarm. "You can't come in here!"

"There's no one else around," he pointed out. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Sherlock, it's just the bathroom," I sighed. "Nothing is going to jump out and attack me."

"Perhaps not," he admitted. "But I'd rather be sure that you're all right."

"God, this is embarrassing," I muttered as I shut myself into a stall.

When I had finished Sherlock was leaning against the wall by the sink.

"See?" I asked. "Completely fine."

"If I hadn't been here would you have hidden in here and spent some time panicking and crying?" he challenged. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Maybe," I muttered. He smirked at me. Damn him for knowing me so well.

"Crown versus Moriarty—please proceed to court five," a voice called over the PA system. The door opened and a young woman with red hair walked in. I recognized her from Moriarty's other trial. She was a reporter who had tried to get Sherlock to give her an exclusive interview.

"Miss Riley," Sherlock acknowledged his disdain for her evident in his voice.

"Wrong toilet," she snapped back before she zeroed in on me. "You're the girl, right? Reilen Turner? I'm Kitty Riley. Pleased to meet you. " She extended her hand toward me.

"No," Sherlock bit out, stepping between us.

"Excuse me?" She blinked up at him looking perplexed.

"No," he repeated forcefully. "I'm just saving you the trouble of asking. No, she won't give you an interview; no, she doesn't want the money." He reached back and grabbed my hand, pulling me with him as he pushed past her and headed for the door. Kitty rushed after us.

"You let all guys speak for you that way or is it just Sherlock and Moriarty?" she demanded as she reached past Sherlock, shut the door he had just started to open, and got in his way. She stepped forward moving well into his personal space. She looked up at him, the challenge written all over her face. She looked past him to me. I could feel the shock on my face. I couldn't believe she had really just said that to me.

"There's all sorts of gossip in the press about you," she informed me. "Sooner or later you're gonna need someone on your side." She reached into her pocket and produced a business card which she slipped into Sherlock's breast pocket, looking back up at him with that challenging look.

"Someone to set the record straight," she added. Sherlock's grip on my hand tightened and he pulled me closer to him. I looked up and saw the sarcastic smile on his face.

"And you think you're the girl for that job, do you?" he asked. "Haven't we been here before?"

"Like I told you before," she answered. "I'm smart and you can trust me, totally."

"Smart people don't need to tell others that they're smart," he jabbed. "It's simply evident to those around them. And you have to _earn_ trust, Miss Riley. It's not something you get just because you say you're trustworthy. As _I_ told you before, I don't see smart and I _definitely_ don't see trustworthy. Would you like another quote?" He had her Dictaphone in his hand before I realized that he had taken it from her pocket.

"Four words this time," he went on, holding it close to his mouth while Kitty watched him with something resembling annoyance. " _You…still…repel…me_." His words were slow, deliberate. The look on his face was cold. He meant to hurt her as much as he could with his words. To show her how little he thought of her. Sometimes I forgot how Sherlock could be with people he loathed. He handed it back to her and strode from the room, pulling me with him.

"Was that Kitty Riley who just went in there?" John asked as he and Mary joined us. Sherlock kept walking toward the courtroom.

"Yes," he replied in a clipped tone.

"What'd she want?" John wanted to know.

"She wanted to interview me," I answered. "Sherlock told her no."

"Glad I was in there now?" he questioned.

"Immensely," I agreed. At the courtroom, John went up the gallery while I waited outside in the corridor with Mary. Sherlock was testifying first and we'd all agreed that it would be best if I was in the courtroom as little as possible so that Moriarty couldn't try to frighten me before I had to take the stand.

* * *

Sherlock was thrown out of court which I knew would happen. He had made the judge so angry that my testimony had been moved to the next day.

"I asked you to behave," John ground out. "You _promised_ you would!"

"I did try," Sherlock offered. "But they were being so—idiotic."

"Now Rei has to go through all of this _again_ tomorrow!" John shouted as he paced around the living room. Sherlock tracked him with his eyes until John moved to a point where he would have had to turn his head.

"John, it's all right," I sighed. "Please, stop pacing."

"I have to go pick up Mary from the surgery," he snapped. He stormed from the flat and I went to the window and watched him walk up the street.

"I suppose I should apologize," Sherlock said to me. I shrugged and turned away from the window.

"I don't think so," I replied. "I just wish I could have seen the judge's face." Sherlock chuckled.

"The jury seemed to enjoy the show," he remembered.

"Did you actually get to say anything useful?" I wondered. "Or did you get under the judge's skin straight away?"

"I managed to control myself long enough to answer several questions." I smiled. Sherlock had been thrown out of Moriarty's first trial after half an hour of being on the stand. This time he had lasted about two hours. He stood and joined me by the window.

"I am sorry for prolonging this," he apologized. "I really did try to hold my tongue." I smiled up at him.

"I know."

* * *

The next day I paced up and down the corridor trying to convince myself not to bolt for the nearest exit.

"It'll be all right," Mary assured me. "You can do this." Sherlock and John were already in the gallery. Sherlock had been allowed back in the courtroom under the strict orders that he was to _keep his mouth shut_. The Crown Prosecutor, Ms. Sorrel, stepped out of the courtroom.

"We're ready for you," she called. Mary hugged me and smiled reassuringly.

"It'll be fine," she said. I took a deep breath and followed the other woman inside.

"Right over there," the prosecutor directed me to the witness box. I nodded and moved quickly across the room trying not to think about how everyone in the room was watching me. I was sworn in and then the questioning began.

"Ms. Turner," Ms. Sorrel began. "How did you first meet the accused?"

"He—he worked with my friend Molly, over at Barts," I answered keeping my eyes on her to avoid looking over at Moriarty. "Or—he _said_ he did. It turned out to be a lie."

"How did you come to find out that he wasn't who he said he was?"

"He strapped a Semtex vest to John and tried to blow me, John, and Sherlock up. That's when he introduced himself as James Moriarty and not "Jim for IT"."

"You are aware of the last trial involving the accused, correct?" she went on. "Why were you not involved in that case?"

"I knew about it," I agreed. "But he had specifically called out Sherlock and I didn't know anything about him that Sherlock didn't so my testimony wasn't needed."

"After he was acquitted, did you see him again?"

"He came to our flat," I said. "He wanted to speak with Sherlock. He said—"

"Objection!" the defense barrister, Mr. Crayhill, cut me off. "Hearsay."

"Sustained," the judge agreed. My eyes went to Sherlock who shook his head slightly.

' _Stupid mistake,_ ' I chided myself. ' _Be more careful next time!_ '

"When did you see him next?" Ms. Sorrel asked. "After he came to your flat?"

"I went out to meet someone I had met online, a man named Nick," I explained. "It turned out that Moriarty had posed as Nick to get me to agree to a meeting and then drugged me and took me somewhere—a warehouse, I think."

"Why did he do that?" she wanted to know.

"You can't ask me that," I scolded her. "I can't say I knew what he was thinking or he'll object again." I nodded to the defense barrister.

"Ms. Turner," the judge snapped. "I'll not have a repeat of the events of yesterday."

"I'm sorry, Your Honor," I replied.

"Did you ever find out why the accused took you?" she asked instead.

"To get at Sherlock."

"He told you this?" I shook my head.

"It was fairly obvious. Moriarty has no interest in me, specifically. He only cares about getting to Sherlock."

"After he let you go you were hospitalized, correct?" she asked next.

"I'd been stabbed and he hired men to chase me and beat me if they caught me, which they did."

"Can you tell us what happened after that?" she requested.

"He came to the flat about month after I got out of the hospital and drugged me with Ketamine," I answered. "Just to— _prove he could_ —and make the game more interesting."

"Game?" she interjected.

"That's all this is to him," I agreed. "He's bored so he needed a new game to entertain him."

"How do you know this?"

"Because Sherlock and I get bored so why wouldn't Moriarty?"

"Please, go on."

"He left me alone for a while after that but eventually, he had his—a man named Sebastian take me from Baker Street and bring me to a—a—place. I never found out what it was. I was unconscious when they brought me in and when they took me out and I never went outside."

"How long were you there for?"

"About two months."

"And what sorts of things happened to you there?" I took a deep breath and looked up at Sherlock again, keeping my eyes on him as I listed the events that took place.

"I was beaten, starved, made to be his servant, and—and—raped." My voice wavered on the last word and I had to close my eyes to keep from crying.

"I know this is very difficult for you to recall," Ms. Sorrel said gently. "I'll try to be as brief as possible." I nodded for her to go on.

"How often were you raped?"

"At first, not at all," I recounted. "But one day I—I was supposed to be cleaning the stove and I stopped to take a break and fell asleep. When Sebastian found me he told Moriarty who decided I need a "special" punishment for that. After that it happened several times a week."

"And you were a virgin, isn't that right?"

"Yes," I replied in a small voice. My eyes went to Sherlock and I saw that his face had gone blank, a sign that he was actually furious. I looked back at the prosecutor.

"When Moriarty finally let you go, what did you think was going to happen?" she asked.

"I thought he was going to kill me and dump my body somewhere for Sherlock and John to find," I answered truthfully. "Instead, he tricked Sherlock into electrocuting me."

"How so?"

"He made Sherlock think he was going to repeat the Milgram experiment but it wasn't fake."

"Can you explain what that experiment was?" she requested. I explained about the original Milgram experiment, making sure to look over that jury as I did so.

"After you returned home, how have you been?" she asked.

"I've been—I have severe PTSD," I responded. "I had nightmares and panic attacks and I'm only just starting to get over them."

"Nothing further," she stated before going to sit down at her assigned table. Mr. Crayhill rose and addressed the judge.

"Cross examination, Your Honor?"

"Proceed," the judge replied.

"Ms. Turner, you say you have PTSD, can you elaborate on that?" he requested.

"I have nightmares and panic attacks," I repeated. Hadn't I _just_ said that?

"Trouble sleeping?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered slowly unsure of where this was going.

"And you see a therapist for all of this, correct?"

"Obviously."

"What sets off these panic attacks?"

"It can be anything," I explained. "Even little things like someone touching me when I'm not expecting it or shouting even if it's not at me."

"So you're saying that the things my client is accused of were so traumatizing that they are getting in the way of your relationships with those you are close to?" he asked.

"Yes," I agreed.

"Why didn't you ever try to escape?" he challenged. "Surely you thought of it?"

"Well—yes—I—I did," I stammered. "But—but I didn't even know where I was. I was locked in the basement when I wasn't doing something for Moriarty."

"What sort of things did he have you do?"

"Cleaning, mostly. I had to serve him tea as well."

"And were you left alone when you were told to clean?" he pressed. I saw where this was going now.

"Yes," I answered. "But I didn't know how big the place was or how to get out. And as I said, I didn't even know _where_ I was. On top of that, Sebastian was never too far away and he's a skilled sniper."

"According to the videos that were released to the media you tried to commit suicide, didn't you?" I swallowed hard and nodded.

"Y—Yes," I choked out.

"Why was that?"

"I realized that he was never going to let me go or if he did it would be after I was dead. I decided to die on my own terms. It was the only way out that I saw."

"Are you sure it wasn't out of guilt?" he questioned. I blinked and shook my head.

"I—I don't understand," I stated.

"Defense exhibit A, Your Honor," he said to the judge. "This was in the video files received by the media" The judge nodded for him to continue. He turned on a television screen and the whole courtroom watched as I scrawled an apology over my mattress in my own blood before hanging myself from an overhead pipe. My throat felt like it was closing up. It was strange, watching a video of myself stepping off the edge of the table. I had the urge to yell "Stop! It won't work!" I could see now that there wasn't enough height or force to snap my neck. I'd been too distraught to realize it before.

" _I'm sorry_ ," he said as he stopped the clip. "What were you sorry for?"

"I was apologizing to John and Sherlock," I forced out. "For not being able to wait for them anymore. For leaving them."

"Could it perhaps have been something else?" he insisted. "Perhaps you felt guilty for _enjoying_ being with my client and you didn't want your friends finding out."

"No," I snapped. "That wasn't it at all."

"Defense exhibit B, Your Honor," he went on. "A video my client produced showing the witness willingly being intimate with him." I sucked in a breath and my eyes flew to Moriarty. He smirked at me, turned and smirked at Sherlock, and then turned back to me and locked his gaze with mine. I couldn't breathe.

"Objection!" Ms. Sorrel cried. "I wasn't informed of this evidence!"

"My client only just gave it to me this morning," Mr. Crayhill replied.

"We'll take a short recess while I make a decision in this matter," the judge decided. The courtroom cleared out and I met Sherlock and the others in the corridor.

"He can't do this," John fumed.

"He already is," Mary replied. I sank onto a bench and tried desperately to slow my breathing. Sherlock sat beside me and put his hand over one of mine.

"Slow even breathes," he instructed. I gripped his hand tightly and did as he said. After a few minutes my breathing returned to normal and my grip relaxed. The door to the courtroom opened and Ms. Sorrel stepped out.

"The video is being allowed into evidence," she said apologetically. "On the grounds that it would be prejudicial _not_ to include it."

"You've got to be joking!" John cried. Mary put a hand on his arm but he ignored her.

"There's nothing you can do?" Mary asked.

"I can make sure that Mr. Crayhill doesn't drag out showing it and that he doesn't badger Reilen in his questioning but that's about it."

"Do we have to go in right now?" I asked gripping Sherlock's hand tightly again. She nodded. Sherlock and I stood and he walked with me to the entrance to the main courtroom.

"It'll be over soon," he reminded me giving my hand a squeeze. Reluctantly, I released his hand and walked back to the witness box. I was sworn in again and the Mr. Crayhill stood up.

"Ms. Turner, you recognize this video, do you not?" he asked. I glanced at the screen and saw myself kneeling before Moriarty. I closed my eyes and turned away from it.

"I do," I answered. He played the clip and I had to physically clench my hands behind my back to keep myself from covering my ears to block out the sounds on the clip.

"You don't seem distressed or in pain here," Mr. Crayhill pointed out when he stopped the clip. "You seem to be quite willing in fact. You even smile at my client when he praises you."

"I didn't have a choice," I ground out through clenched teeth. "If I didn't act like I liked it then he and Sebastian would beat me. I only started doing— _those things_ because I couldn't stand being hit anymore."

"You didn't have a choice?" he repeated.

"No," I responded. "I didn't." He put on another clip and looked over at the jury.

"Then how do you explain this?" He hit play and a clip of me and Moriarty showed on the screen. We were sitting on his bed mostly covered by a sheet. Only Moriarty's upper body was visible. I had my back against the headboard and his head was in my lap. I was stroking his hair while he prattled on about something from his childhood. I nodded along with what he said and asked questions when he paused.

"How do you explain _that_?" Mr. Crayhill demanded. I gaped at the screen, paused on Moriarty gazing up at me, midsentence, and me just beginning to laugh.

"I—I—I was—was only trying to please him," I stumbled over my words. "I just wanted to—to—to keep him happy. I was—act— _acting_."

"Perhaps you're not as traumatized as you say," he suggested. Ms. Sorrel started to object but he held up his hand.

"Withdrawn," he said. But the damage was already done. The jury couldn't _unhear_ his words.

* * *

My testimony lasted several more hours and then several hours the following day. By the end of it I was exhausted. I spent hours holed up in our room, huddled in a corner. Sherlock tried to help as best he could. He played his violin or just sat beside me but there was nothing he could do to stop what we both knew was coming.

I didn't go back to court after my testimony. Moriarty didn't take the stand in his own defense and no witnesses were called on his behalf. Given the content of the videos and the fact that he wasn't saying anything to _dispute_ doing those things there was only one outcome that the judge could legally allow. He would instruct the jury to find Moriarty guilty. They could go over all the evidence of course but they _must_ find him guilty.

John was there when the jury went into deliberations but it was suspected it could last for several hours if not several days.


	17. The Fall is Coming

Chapter 17: The Fall is Coming

 _It took six minutes._ John called Sherlock afterwards all worked up because the jury found Moriarty Not Guilty and now he was getting out. We all knew the first thing he would do was come to the flat. Sherlock hung up on him and immediately began making tea.

"He'll want to gloat, of course," he told me as he set the tea tray on the table bedside John's chair. "Stay out of sight while he's here. I don't want him speaking to you."

"I could always ignore him if he does," I offered, trying to be brave despite the fact that I was practically on the verge of tears.

"I don't want him _looking_ at you," Sherlock snapped. I nodded and we waited for Moriarty to arrive.

Both of us had been wearing our dressing gowns over our clothes but now Sherlock exchanged his for a jacket and I simply removed mine. Sherlock started playing his violin and I sat and tried to keep my breathing even.

As Sherlock started playing Bach's Sonata No. 1 in G minor. There was a creak on the stairs and he paused. Without a word I stood and ducked into the kitchen, hiding myself over by the door that led out onto the landing. He started playing again but a moment later the living room door let out a small creak as it opened.

"Most people knock," Sherlock's voice noted. "But then again, you're not most people. Kettle's just boiled." Moriarty's footsteps moved across the floor and I cringed back against the door frame, pressing my back flat against the wood.

"Johann Sebastian would be appalled," Moriarty drawled in a bored tone. There a soft ' _thud_ ' like he had tossed something in the air and then caught it.

"May I?" he requested.

"Please," Sherlock replied. I crept back into the kitchen and peered through the warped glass in the partially closed double doors. I could see Moriarty sitting in Sherlock's chair, cutting into an apple (which he must have gotten from the bowl on the coffee table) with a penknife while Sherlock poured the tea. I ducked back into my hiding place before Moriarty could see me.

"You know when he was on his deathbed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing on of his pieces," he said in that same bored tone. "The boy stopped before he got to the end…"

"…And the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano, and finished it," Sherlock finished.

"Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody," Moriarty tsked.

"Neither can you," Sherlock accused him. "That's why you've come." I was starting to think that I should have hidden in our bedroom because standing in the kitchen and listening to Moriarty talk with Sherlock was wearing on my nerves. I already had to clamp my hands over my mouth to keep myself from crying.

"But be honest," Moriarty said. "You're just a tiny bit pleased."

"With the verdict?" Sherlock asked.

"With me," he answered gleefully. "Back on the streets. Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain."

"You need me or you're nothing," he went on. Because we're just alike, you and I—except you're _boring_. You're on the side of the _angels_." He sounded disappointed now.

"Got to the jury of course," Sherlock stated. We'd known that he would. That was the only possible explanation for why he was let go even after the judge told them that they _had_ to find him guilty.

"I got into the Tower of London," Moriarty pointed out referring to his "attempt" at mass scale burglary. "You think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?"

"Cable network," Sherlock replied. "Again? You're repeating yourself Moriarty. Running out of ideas?" That's how he had gotten off last time too.

"Well, it worked so well the first time," he chuckled.

"So how're you going to do it?" Sherlock asked him in a low voice. " _Burn me_?"

"Why doesn't Reilen join us?" he responded. "Well, little mouse? Come out come out wherever you are!" I swallowed a whimper and considered making a break for our bedroom at the end of the hall.

"Tell her to come out," he ordered Sherlock. "You don't want to spoil our chat, do you?" There was a pause but I knew Sherlock didn't have any other option.

"Reilen," he called to me in a tight voice. "Come in here, please." Reluctantly, I edged into the living room and found Sherlock sitting in John's chair. I stopped beside him.

"Hello, little mouse," Moriarty said pleasantly. I looked at the floor and shuffled closer to Sherlock until my leg pressed up against the arm of the chair.

"Don't be rude," he snapped at me when I didn't reply. "You know better than that."

"Heh—Hello, Mas—Moriarty," I whispered. Sherlock tensed when he realized that I had almost called Moriarty _master_.

"Come now, little mouse," Moriarty insisted. "You can look at me, it's all right." I raised my eyes and looked at him just long enough that he wouldn't make me do it again before looking away and focusing on Sherlock. I wanted to hold his hand or just have my arm against his but I didn't want to give Moriarty anymore ammunition to use against us.

"So how am I going to burn you?" Moriarty questioned Sherlock. "Oh, that's the problem—the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet?" Sherlock calmly took a sip of his tea and looked across his cup at the other man. He was doing a much better job of keeping his cool than I was. I was shaking like a leaf.

"What's the final problem?" he asked Sherlock smiling at him across his own cup before going on in a sing song voice. "I did tell you…but did you listen?" He sipped his tea, put the cup back on its saucer, and began idly drumming his fingers on his knee. Sherlock's eyes lowered to watch his movements and I followed his gaze. There was a sort of pattern to it.

"How hard do you find it," Moriarty demanded after a moment. "Having to say "I don't know"?" Sherlock put his cup back on its saucer and shrugged.

"I dunno," he quipped nonchalantly.

"Oh, that's clever," Moriarty chuckled in a haughty tone. "That's very clever; _awfully_ clever." Sherlock gave him a humorless smile and set his saucer and cup back on the tray beside him.

"Speaking of clever," Moriarty went on. "Have you told your little friends yet?" He looked up at me, his eyes glinting darkly. I couldn't hold his gaze for more than half a moment.

"Told them what?" Sherlock questioned.

"Why I broke into all those places and never took anything."

"Oh, we're back to that, are we?" Sherlock scoffed. "I thought perhaps you would want to talk about Reilen, since you're insisting that she be present."

"I already told her why I did all that." Moriarty shrugged. "I know she told you. Little mouse, why did I take you?" I froze and had to remind myself to breathe.

"To tear Sherlock apart," I answered softly.

"Part of my plan to _burn_ you," he sneered at Sherlock. "So you haven't told them?"

"No," Sherlock answered tersely.

"But _you_ understand," Moriarty guessed.

"Obviously," Sherlock scoffed. This was news to me. I had never figured out how Moriarty had been able to hack some of the toughest security in the country. Not even Mycroft could get it out of him and he'd had Moriarty interrogated for weeks.

"Off you go, then," Moriarty insisted. He cut off a piece of the apple in his hand and put it into his mouth with the flat of his penknife.

"You want me to tell you what you already know?" Sherlock looked confused.

"I want you to _prove_ that you know it," Moriarty corrected him.

"You didn't take anything because you don't _need_ to."

"Good," Moriarty agreed softly.

"You'll never need to take anything ever again," Sherlock continued.

"Very good." Moriarty nodded. "Because…?"

"Because nothing… _nothing_ in the Bank of England, the Tower of London, or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three," Sherlock reasoned.

"I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code," Moriarty replied. "No such thing as a private bank account now—they're all mine. No such thing as secrecy—I _own_ secrecy. Nuclear codes—I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world with locked rooms, the man with the key is king; and honey, you should _see_ me in a crown." He smiled delightedly at Sherlock. During the first trial I had told Sherlock about my suspicion that he had been advertising, showing the world what he could do, but we hadn't known who exactly he was advertising _to_.

"You helped, you know," he informed Sherlock. "Big client list: rouge governments, intelligence communities…terrorist cells. They all want me." He lifted another piece of apple to his mouth.

"Suddenly, I'm Mr. Sex." He chewed his apple and watched us with a smugly amused look on his face.

"If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?" Sherlock demanded.

"I don't," Moriarty admitted. "I just like to watch them all competing. "Daddy loves _me_ the best!" Aren't ordinary people adorable? Well, you know; you've got John and— _this_ one, I suppose. I did _try_ to get myself a live-in one but—well she wasn't very _good_." He nodded at me and I shrank back behind John's chair.

"Why _are_ you doing all of this?" Sherlock demanded.

"It'd be so funny," Moriarty murmured, still thinking about keeping an ordinary person around. "I'll just have to pick a better one next time. Or break a certain someone in better." He smiled at me, staring at me with that predatory look in his eyes.

"Reilen, go to the other room, please," Sherlock requested.

"No, little mouse, stay," Moriarty commanded. " _Don't…take…another…step_." He spoke the last command slowly, staring me down as he said each word. I looked between the two of them, not sure who to listen to. After all, Moriarty had conditioned me to do exactly as he said the minute he said it. But Sherlock was trying to protect me and really, what could Moriarty do to me with Sherlock right here?

"I'll be in the other room," I said quietly to Sherlock. I turned and began moving toward the kitchen.

" _Get back here_ , little mouse," Moriarty ordered. I stopped immediately.

" _Reilen_ ," Sherlock ground out. "Her name is _Reilen_."

"Oh," Moriarty chuckled. "Did I hit a nerve?" This was bad. We were giving Moriarty more things to use against us. I didn't think he knew that Sherlock and I were together and I preferred to keep it that way.

"It—It's fine, Sherlock," I said as I turned back and returned to my spot behind him. "I'll stay."

"Good girl," Moriarty replied. Sherlock sat very still for a moment before taking a deep breath and looking back at Moriarty.

"You don't want money or power—not really," he pointed out going on with the previous conversation as if nothing had happened. Moriarty didn't say anything, just dug his penknife into the apple.

"What _is_ it all for?" Sherlock questioned. Moriarty sat forward.

"I want to solve the problem," he answered softly. " _Our_ problem; the final problem." He lowered his head and looked at the floor before going on.

"It's gonna start very soon, Sherlock: the fall." He raised his head and whistled a slowly descending note, like in a cartoon, while lowering his gaze back to the floor. When his gaze reached the floor he made the sound of something thudding to the ground.

"But don't be scared," he insisted. "Falling's just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination." He raised his head slowly and glowered at Sherlock before shifting his eyes over to me. I gripped the back of John's chair hard enough to turn my knuckles white.

' _What's he planning now?_ ' I wondered trying to control the panic attempting to run wild through my mind. ' _What new game are we going to have to play?_ ' Sherlock stood and buttoned his jacket.

"Never like riddles," he snapped. Moriarty stood as well, straightening his jacket before locking his gaze with Sherlock's.

"Well learn to," he ordered. "Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I… _owe_ …you." For about six seconds he continued to stare at Sherlock, I'm sure to make sure that Sherlock knew that he meant it. Then, he slowly turned away and walked out of the room. Neither of us moved until the front door shut. Sherlock went over to his chair. Moriarty had left the apple lying on the arm of the chair with the penknife stuck in the bottom. Sherlock picked it up by the handle of the knife and turned it over. I moved up beside him and saw that Moriarty had carve into the apple. I looked up and saw the smile forming on Sherlock's face.

* * *

John came racing in shortly after Moriarty had left. Sherlock only told him _some_ of what Moriarty had said, nothing about Moriarty telling him that he owed Sherlock a fall. He did, however, tell him the things Moriarty had said to and about me. John worried over me since I was apparently pale and still shaking.

"I'm all right," I tried to assure him. "I think—I think I just need to lie down for a bit." I had gone to bed and stayed there until well into the following day.

* * *

"You need to get up," Sherlock insisted. "Ella wants to see you." The last thing I wanted to do was go see Ella but John and Sherlock weren't giving me a choice.

I saw the newspapers on the way to Ella's office. Every single front page wanted to know the same thing: how was Moriarty acquitted _again_? And where had he gone? Apparently, after leaving the flat he had dropped off everyone's radar. Even Mycroft's.

"I know this has to be very hard for you," Ella said gently. "The trial took a lot out of you, didn't it?" I nodded, though I continued to stare blankly at the wall.

"How did you feel, seeing Moriarty sitting in your flat?" she probed.

"Like I never left that basement," I forced out. "Like I'm still there and he still has complete control over me."

"But he _doesn't_ ," John said firmly. "You're here, with me and Sherlock, and you don't have to do anything he says."

"Well I didn't do a very good job of proving that," I muttered.

"You did very well," Sherlock disagreed. "Considering the circumstances and your mental state at the time." I shot him a questioning look and he smirked.

"Don't think I couldn't tell you were panicking inside," he said. I sighed and nodded.

"And that's all to be expected," Ella put in. "After everything you went through and the trial and then having him sitting in your home trying to give you orders—it's natural to panic."

"None of that would have happened if I hadn't made such a mess of things during the trial," I said more to berate myself than to argue.

"That's not true!" John exclaimed.

"Now, John, let Reilen explain why she feels that way," Ella admonished him. "Go on Reilen," I took a breath to steady my nerves.

"I was too emotional during my testimony," I explained as tears prickled at the back of my eyes. "I didn't have good enough reasons for why I behaved the way I did in those videos."

"You did what you needed to survive," Sherlock stated calmly. "No one can fault you for that."

"Crayhill seemed to," I muttered.

"Crayhill was an ass," John spat.

"Well put, John," Sherlock agreed. Ella opened her mouth to say something and feeling like I knew what it was, I cut her off.

"It was his job to discredit me," I pointed out. "I know that. And Moriarty got to the jury which we knew would happen. But I don't think anything I said—any reason I gave—got through to anyone in the jury. They saw those videos and nothing I said meant anything after that." I was crying before I even realized it. John got up and crouched beside me, holding one hand while Sherlock held the other.

"You wanted them to believe you," Ella said quietly. "You wanted them to see the you that was on the stand not the you in those videos." I nodded and tried to reign in my crying before it became outright sobbing.

"I didn't _want_ those things," I cried. "I didn't _want_ to smile and do those things and talk with him like that. _I didn't want any of it_!" I was getting angry now. I wanted to scream and throw things and make someone else— _anyone else_ —feel the way I felt.

Sherlock's hand touched the side of my head, his fingers brushing away the stray strands of hair that had come loose from my ponytail. I turned to him, glaring and ready to snap, but he just put his forehead against mine, completely ignoring my rage.

"I've got a nice collection of things you can smash," he told me. "I'll even clean up the mess." The statement was so far from what I was expecting that I started to laugh. Sherlock smiled at me and released my hand so that I could wipe away my tears.

"I think what Reilen really needs is to get away from London for a bit," Ella suggested.

"Like a holiday?" John asked.

"Exactly," she agreed. "I think some time away from the city would really help her."

"Where should we go?" Sherlock wondered.

"You're planning on coming?" I questioned, incredibly pleased that he had decided to come with me on his own.

"Why not?" he agreed. "A holiday might do all of us some good."

"All of us?" John asked.

"You, Mary, Reilen, and myself, of course," Sherlock listed as if it were a given that all of us would be going on this trip.

"I'll have to see if we can get the time off," John countered. "Might be a bit tricky."

"Well where do you want to go?" I asked Sherlock.

"I think _you_ should choose the destination, Reilen," Ella replied. "The holiday is more for you than them." I considered all the different places I had always dreamt of traveling to. I had so many ideas but given what had happened I didn't think I would truly enjoy that sort of a trip just yet. Given everything that had happened, there was only one place I really wanted to go.

"I want to go see my family," I responded at last.

"Where do they live?" Ella inquired.

"In London," I answered. "But we've got a summer house on the southern coast of Ireland and with the weather as nice as it is they'll be taking weekend trips there when my parents don't have too much work."

"I think that's a wonderful idea," Ella agreed. I looked uncertainly between John and Sherlock.

"Is that all right?" I asked.

"If that's what you want," Sherlock responded.

"I'd really like to meet your family," John agreed. I smiled at them.

"I think they'll be excited to finally meet the two of you as well." At least, I really hoped so.


	18. Everyone Needs a Holiday

Chapter 18: Everyone Needs a Holiday

Two weeks later Sherlock, John, and I stepped off a plane at the Dublin airport. Mary was hoping to join us later in the week and then stay for the remainder of our two week vacation. John had rented us a car and the three of us drove off to my parents' house.

"So who all will be there?" John asked as he drove toward the coastal village where the house was located.

"My mum and dad," I listed. "The twins, Talon and Octavia, they're nine, and my older brother Carlisle."

"How old's he again?" John wondered.

"Thirty-one, same as Sherlock."

"You're younger sisters are a lot younger than you," he noted. "Aren't your parents getting close to fifty?"

"Mum's forty-nine and Dad's fifty-four," I laughed. "The girls were a surprise, that's for sure. Being nineteen and knowing that if anything happened to my parents Carlisle and I would be raising them and be old enough to actually _be_ their parents was pretty unnerving."

"I think you could handle it," Sherlock put in. I chuckled.

"Yes I could," I agreed.

"So we're meeting the whole family in one go?" John questioned.

"Well, Gran and Grandpa are on holiday in Italy right now."

"They must be in their eighties!" he yelped. I laughed.

"Yes, well, they're fit as fiddles, those two." We pulled up to my parents' house and the front door opened before the engine was even off. Talon came flying out of the house and grabbed me around the middle before I was completely out of the car.

"Rei!" she shouted excitedly. "Where have you _been_!? Mum's been a wreck and no one will tell me _why_!" I patted her golden blonde hair and extracted myself from the car with her still hanging on to me.

"It's—uh—it's a bit complicated Tally," I responded. "Don't worry too much about it, okay?" Octavia came running over and threw her arms around me as well.

"You were on the news!" she shouted just as excitedly as her twin. Tension spiked through me and John and Sherlock froze and stared at me and my sisters.

" _You_ watch the news?" I asked letting out a weak chuckle.

"No." Octavia made a face and shook her head causing her golden brown hair to flip and smack Talon in the face. Talon let out a disgruntled noise and shoved her.

"Hey!" Octavia whined shoving her back. I stepped between them and moved them apart.

"That's enough," I ordered. "Tavi, what did the news say about me?" Octavia shrugged.

"I dunno," she responded. "I only saw it for a minute when I was coming in from school. But they were talking about how Sherlock had found some painting and you were there with him." I sighed and relaxed. She was talking about before everything happened. That was good. At least my sisters didn't know about the trial.

"There's my girl!" Mum's voice cried. I turned toward the house and saw my parents walking onto the front porch. I ran to them and threw my arms around them.

"I've missed you," I said as I hugged them tightly, trying to not cry.

"Carlisle!" Dad shouted into the house. "Your sister's here!"

"Be right down!" my older brother's voice shouted back. While we waited for him to appear I brought my parents over to Sherlock and John and introduced everyone.

"Thank you so much for looking after her," Mum thanked them. "We don't know what we'd do if—we really appreciate it."

"It's our pleasure," John assured her.

"Um—there's actually something I never told you guys," I said stepping over to Sherlock and taking ahold of his hand. "Sherlock and I—we're—um—we're dating."

" _Finally_!" the twins sighed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded.

"You've just never had a boyfriend before," Talon giggled.

"It's about time," Octavia giggled. I rolled my eyes and went to help Sherlock and John unload our suitcases from the car.

"Where's Reilee?" Carlisle's voice asked. I dropped the luggage in my hands and ran over to my brother.

"There you are!" I cried brightly. He scooped me up in his arms and spun me around in a circle, hugging me tightly.

"Reilee?" John asked as he came over to us looking confused.

"It was what I called her when she was born," Carlisle explained. "I was only three so I couldn't quite pronounce her name." John laughed and smiled warmly at my brother.

"Nice to meet you," he said offering his hand. "I'm John Watson."

"Heard loads about you." Carlisle shook his hand and returned the smile.

"You have to meet Sherlock," I said dragging him over to the car. "Sherlock, say hello to my brother." Sherlock straightened up from stacking luggage and extended his hand.

"Yes, hello, I'm—" Before he could finish Carlisle punched him square in the face.

"What the _bloody hell_ was that for!?" I shouted rushing to Sherlock's side. John ran over and began checking Sherlock's face. Carlisle gave Sherlock a murderous look.

"Don't think I don't know what happened," he snarled. "I know it was all _your_ fault that those things happened to my sister!"

"Girls, go in the house," Dad ordered. The twins scampered away probably pretty shocked by Carlisle's behavior.

"Is he all right?" I asked John.

"Oh he'll be fine," John replied. "His nose will stop bleeding in a bit." I whirled around and stormed over to my brother.

"Why did you do that!?" I shouted at him, shoving him backwards as hard as I could.

"The twins may not know what's going on but I saw the news!" Carlisle ground out. "I saw what that _bastard_ did to you and if you hadn't been hanging around _him_ that never would have happened!" He pointed accusingly at Sherlock.

"That's not fair!" I retorted. "He did everything he could to keep Moriarty away from me! You can't blame him for things he had no control over! He never gave up looking for me! You should be _thanking_ him for getting me back! You should be _glad_ that he's been taking care of me all this time! You have _no idea_ what I've been going through! Now say you're sorry!" Carlisle looked past me to where Sherlock was getting to his feet and tilting his head back to slow the blood flowing from his nose.

"Sorry," Carlisle snapped.

"You won't be so lucky next time," Sherlock replied. Carlisle took a step toward him.

"He means it," I warned him, putting a hand on his chest to stop him. "He can fight better than you." Which was saying something since Carlisle had a black belt in karate. Carlisle huffed and stormed over to his car, got in, and drove away.

"I'm so sorry about that," Mum said hurrying over to Sherlock and John. "Let me get you some ice."

"It's quite all right," Sherlock replied. "The bleeding's stopped. I think I'll just clean up."

"Oh, of course." Mum directed him to the bathroom. He smirked at me before walking into the house.

"Sorry about that," Dad offered awkwardly. "Carlisle's always been—very protective of his sisters. This whole mess with the trial has really gotten to him."

"No, please, don't apologize," John insisted. "It's completely understandable. I wish my sister and I were that close." We gathered up the luggage and headed into the house and found Sherlock sitting on the couch listening to Talon and Octavia.

"What're you talking about?" I questioned.

"Your childhood," Sherlock answered.

"How can you be talking about my childhood?" I turned to my sisters. "You weren't even _alive_ then."

"We've heard the stories enough times to tell 'em," Octavia chirped.

"All right, well, Sherlock has better things to do than listen to you two tell stories," I replied.

"I don't mind," he said giving my sisters a smile. "It would seem your intelligence is hereditary."

"I like him," Octavia responded with a grin.

"You look out for Rei, right?" Talon asked him. "You take care of her?"

"I certainly try to," Sherlock agreed.

"How much do you like her?" Talon pressed.

"Give it a rest, Tal," I groaned.

"Do you _like_ her like her?" Octavia added.

"Um—" Sherlock looked at me uncertainly. Not having very young siblings or being around younger children meant he was unfamiliar with the way children referred to things.

"They _mean_ do you love me?" I clarified. "You know, girls, we've had a long day. We had to get up early to go to the airport. So maybe you can save your pestering for later?" Sherlock and I had never discussed this particular facet of our relationship. There had been so much going on that there had never seemed to be time to really hash out how we were going to describe our feelings.

"I suppose I do," Sherlock answered. I tried to cover up my surprise at his words while my sisters grinned and giggled excitedly.

"So, you're really really dating?" Octavia demanded. "You _actually_ want to put up with her?"

"Maybe _I'm_ the one who wants to put up with _him_ ," I snapped. "Now get out of here, brats." The twins giggled and ran from the room. I rolled my eyes and sat down beside Sherlock.

"Sorry about that." He chuckled and lazily draped one arm across the back of the sofa.

"I find them quite amusing." I leaned my head against his shoulder.

"How's your nose?" I questioned, looked up at him worriedly.

"I've had worse."

"He's wrong, you know," I said. "It wasn't your fault."

"It was partly my fault," he disagreed. "It was your association with me that got you into that mess in the first place."

"I'll punch him back when he comes home," I decided. "He wouldn't hit _me_." Sherlock shifted so that he could look down at me.

"Why not?" he wondered.

"Because I'm a _girl_." I gave him a devilish grin. He blinked once like what I had said had confused him but then he began to laugh.

* * *

I didn't punch Carlisle. I didn't want to upset my mother since such displays of sibling aggression would have humiliated her as she considered Sherlock and John to be guests. While I was glad they were here with me I didn't see it as something I had to treat with any special care. I just kept on as if were still back at the flat, so I "accidentally" tripped Carlisle down half a flight of stairs instead. There was nothing my mother could say because I convincingly insisted that it was an accident.

Mary joined us several days after we arrived and my mother took an instant liking to her. Carlisle seemed to settle down after he saw Sherlock and me interacting. They came to some sort of silent truce and my brother stopped looking at Sherlock like he was going to punch him again.

The twins absolutely loved Mary and she had the patience to put up with their insistence that she play all manner of games with them. Meanwhile, my father seemed to get along quite well with John. Dad wasn't a doctor but he had been in the army so he and John spent quite a bit of time swapping war stories.

* * *

"How have your studies been going?" I asked Talon as she and I walked through the woods behind the house. "Mum said you're taking extra Japanese classes after school."

"Mm-hm!" she chirped. "I want to study it at university like you did, Nee-chan!" I smiled at the nickname which meant 'big sister' in Japanese. I'd tried teaching both girls Japanese when they were small but Octavia had never taken to it. She was studying French instead. Talon, on the other hand, gladly let me tutor her.

"Do Sherlock and the others know you speak Japanese?" she asked.

"I'm sure they know I studied it," I responded trying to remember if we had ever talked about it beyond a passing comment. "Although, Sherlock's never quizzed me about it."

"Does Sherlock speak Japanese?" She looked up at me hopefully.

"I don't know." I shrugged. "He's never mentioned it and I've never heard him speak it."

"But he speaks other languages?"  
"Yeah, loads. German, French, Russian—I think he knows others. He might not be _fluent_ in all of them but he knows enough to get by. He can read Latin, too."

"No wonder you like him," Talon chuckled. "He's a bookworm, like you."  
"Yep," I laughed. "That's the _only_ reason." We walked along in silence for several minutes, heading back toward the house.

"Nee-chan, sing the song, please?" she requested. I smiled and began humming a song that I had sung to both the girls when they were babies but had kept singing to Talon when it was clear that she had a preference for Japanese (I had a French song that I had sung to Octavia). Whenever I came home Talon requested that I sing it for her. The song was called _Ue o Muite Aruko_ which translated to I Look Up When I Walk although the title had been changed to Sukiyaki since it was thought that Americans would be able to pronounce that better. Never mind that sukiyaki was a food and had nothing to do with the song.

"Are you going to sing it with me?" I asked pausing in my humming.

"Of course!" she answered. I nodded and began to sing.

" _Ue o muite arukou_ ," I began.

" _Namida ga kobore nai you ni_ ," Talon joined in. She took ahold of my hand and we smiled at each other.

" _Omoidasu haru no hi_ ," we continued on. " _Hitoribotchi no yoru_." The song's lyrics were actually pretty depressing but the tune was deceptively happy. It wasn't a typical lullaby but I had loved it the first time I had heard it. Talon was old enough and fluent enough to understand the lyrics but she didn't seem to mind that the song was actually sad. We continued to sing as we neared the house. I looked up and saw Sherlock standing at the edge of the patio. I stopped singing and let out an embarrassed chuckle.

"Let's—uh—sing it later, okay Tally?" I suggested.

"But _Nee-chan_!" she protested.

"Later," I insisted. "I promise." She pouted at me and stomped off. I looked back to Sherlock and smiled.

"Taking a bit of a walk?" he guessed. I nodded and gestured back toward the woods.

"I could use some more exercise," I said. "Want to come along?" He nodded and we strolled back the way I had come.

When Sherlock and I were alone I had time to think. Too much time. With everyone around I was distracted and busy but when it was just the two of us we tended to lapse into a comfortable silence that left me able to focus on the things I was trying to ignore.

"You're worried," he noticed when we returned to the house after our walk. I shrugged and walked over to the corner where a grand piano sat. I poked a few of the keys and sat down on the bench.

"Do you play?" Sherlock asked as he joined me.

"Nope." I smirked at him. "My parents just have a five foot grand piano in their living room for decoration. _Of course_ I know how to play. Carlisle and I started learning when we were each about three years old. I know I never do it at the flat but I can play the violin as well."

"And the twins?" he inquired as he sat beside me.

"Talon learned to play the violin and some piano," I replied. "Octavia insisted on learning guitar." Sherlock began playing a tune one note at a time. After a minute I realized that he was playing _Ue o Muite Aruko_.

"You know that song?" I asked.

"Never heard it before today," he replied.

' _He only heard me singing a little bit of it and now he can play the whole thing!?_ ' I gaped at him.

"Can you play it?" he wanted to know. I nodded and began playing along with him. I played the higher notes while he played the lower ones.

"Shall we sing it?" he suggested. I shook my head as my face started to turn red from embarrassment.

"Playing it's fine," I mumbled. Sherlock bumped my shoulder with his.

" _Ue o muite aruko_ ," he began. When he sang he went from being a baritone to being a tenor. He didn't sing much, just occasionally around the flat when he was trying to annoy John, but I always loved his singing voice. I began humming along with him but he stopped.

"Why won't you sing it with me?" he wanted to know.

"I'm embarrassed," I admitted. "I'm not very good at singing. I was only singing for Talon because she asked and I always sing that song for her at least once when I come to visit."

"I thought you sounded fine." He was looking at me with complete honesty and I felt my face heat up all over again. Sherlock behaved this way so rarely that it always made me a bit embarrassed.

"All right," I agreed.

"Let's start over, shall we?" He began playing the song from the beginning and together we started to sing.

At some point I became aware that everyone else had joined us and were watching us with smiles on their faces. John was beaming, Mary was looking at us with misty eyes, and my parents looked absolutely thrilled. Talon bounced over to the piano and joined in the song. As we finished I found that I was thinking about the meaning of the lyrics and that my eyes had filled with tears.

"Be right back," I mumbled to Sherlock before darting off to my old bedroom, where the two of us were staying. My parents had changed it to a study after I moved to London but changed it back after the trial. Apparently, Mum thought I needed it.

' _I really need to stop doing this,_ ' I chided myself as I paced back and forth across my room, drying my eyes repeatedly since the tears seemed to refuse to stop coming.

"Reilen?" Sherlock called as he opened the door. I turned quickly and gave my eyes one last swipe.

"Sherlock," I replied. He closed the door and studied me.

"Did something happen?" he asked.

"I—I was just thinking too much," I answered. "You know how I can get. I was just overthinking things."

"What things?" He took a few steps toward me.

"Just the song," I explained. "I know it sounds happy but the lyrics are—they're depressing, actually."

"Oh?" He cocked his head. "What do they mean? I only looked up the Japanese lyrics, not the translation." I sighed and explained the English lyrics which described a man who was lonely and sad, remembering happier days, and was looking up at the sky as he walked so that his tears wouldn't fall.

"I heard it in a movie when I was a kid and I loved it," I told him. "I even loved what the lyrics meant. I think that was only because I didn't really understand them."

"But now you do?" I nodded.

"You're lonely?" He stepped closer to me

"I—I—um—sometimes," I stammered. "It's not your fault or anything I just—I feel kind of alone in—in my head, I guess." Sherlock stopped right in front of me.

"You don't have to be alone," he said quietly. "I'm here now." His hand reached out and cupped the back of my neck as he leaned in and kissed me.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to come back with us?" John questioned for probably the tenth time in five minutes. "There's going to be nothing to do here."

"I'm sure we'll find something," Sherlock assured him.

"Reilen, honestly, what are you and _Sherlock_ going to do here by yourselves?" he asked me. Our two week holiday had come to an end and Mary and John were headed back to London. My family was going back as well since my parents and Carlisle had work during the week although they would be back on some weekends. Sherlock had decided that he and I needed to spend some time alone, really alone, and had asked my parents if they minded us staying for the rest of the summer. Of course they'd said it was fine.

"Well there's the beach," I pointed out. "And the shops. And—"

"That's all fine for you but what about Sherlock?"

"Perhaps they'll be some crimes to solve," Sherlock said. "However minor."

"Normal people don't wish for crimes," John snapped.

"We're not normal," I reminded him. "Now get going or you're going to miss your plane!" John finally got into the rental car and he and Mary drove away. As soon as they were gone and Sherlock and I were really, truly, alone he turned to me.

"Really, though, what _are_ we going to do for the rest of the summer?" he asked. I rolled my eye and poked him in the chest.

"This was _your_ idea," I answered. "You figure it out." It took him ten minutes to start finding cases. At least, with Sherlock, I could always count on things never being dull.

* * *

At the start of September Sherlock and I returned to London. The summer had been pretty eventful. Whenever my family joined us on weekends I could count on my sisters pestering Sherlock and me for hours. They had come up with a new game which either involved trying to stump Sherlock with questions (which they never managed) or pitting Sherlock and me against each other to see who could answer the most questions correctly (I only won once and the I think that was only because Sherlock took pity on me). Mary and John visited a few times but I think they were enjoying having some time alone as much as we were.

As soon as we got home the big cases started up again. Lestrade said we really shouldn't be allowed to leave London because he was up to his eyeballs in cases he had no idea how to solve. Sherlock made quick work of them (I helped). Since our holiday lasted longer than originally planned, Ella wanted to see me right after we came home.

* * *

"So," she began. "How was your holiday?"

"It was great!" I smiled brightly at her. "I even convinced Sherlock to go to the beach a couple times." We hadn't gone swimming. There was nothing I could say to get him to agree to _that_ so we had found a nice big rock, sat on it, and stared at the ocean. It was really kind of nice.

"John said you two had a bunch of cases."

"Just small stuff," I answered with a shrug. "Really small stuff. Like "my sister nicked my roller blades and now they're gone" kind of small. That was one of our cases, actually."

"How was that?" she wondered.

"Fine." I shrugged again. "A bit boring maybe but fine."

"Only you two would insist on finding cases on holiday and then decide that they were boring," John chuckled.

"How did your family take to Sherlock?" Ella asked.

"Really well," I said happily. "Aside from Carlisle punching Sherlock in the face right after we got there."

"Why on earth would he do that?" She looked a shocked.

"He blamed me for the things that happened to Reilen," Sherlock explained. "I can't say that his aggression was entirely unfounded."

"But after that everything went smoothly?" We nodded.

"Sorry," John said glancing at his watch. "I've got to leave early today. Mary and I have some errands to run."

"See you at home," I called as he headed out.

"Well now that John isn't here, is there anything you two want to talk about?" She eyed our hands which had been clasped this entire time.

"Things were— _eventful_ ," I replied carefully. Ella's eyes lit up.

"How did that go?"

"Um—" Sherlock and I said. The first time had been— _well_ …

 _Sherlock didn't drink often. He said he didn't like the effects of alcohol (he preferred heroin although he was clean now) but I found some whiskey in my father's liquor cabinet and convinced him that we should drink some._

 _"_ _Well, a bit couldn't hurt," he decided. I smiled and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet before leading him into the living room._

 _"_ _I'm glad you suggested this," I said as I sipped my drink. "It's nice."_

 _"_ _It is, isn't?" he sighed in a seemingly contented manner. I turned on the television and chose some sort of animal documentary. We watched in silence as we sipped our drinks._

 _"_ _Did you mean it?" I asked several hours and several drinks later._

 _"_ _Hm?" he mumbled turning to me and giving me a somewhat loopy smile._

 _"_ _What you said that night, about me not having to be alone because you're here now."_

 _"_ _Why wouldn't I have meant it?" He blinked a few times. I kind of liked drunk Sherlock, he looked so baffled about everything and I could easily tell what he was thinking by the look on his face._

 _"_ _Sometimes I think you just say things to shut me up," I admitted._

 _"_ _What_ _ **possible**_ _reason would I have to say what I did to shut you up?" he wondered. "Saying things like that for no reason would get me nowhere. You would think one thing while I thought another and then you would get upset when you found out I hadn't meant it and then John would give me a lecture or shout at me. Not really worth it." He finished his current drink and leaned his head against the back of the sofa. I looked at him for a minute, considering an idea I had in my head. I sat up straighter and leaned over, kissing his lips hesitantly. I felt his smirk against my lips as he allowed me to deepen the kiss. I pulled back and smiled at him._

 _"_ _That was—nice," he decided._

 _"_ _C'mon." I pulled him to his feet and tugged him toward my room. We stumbled across the living room and up the stairs._

 _"_ _What're we doing?" he wondered as I shut the door and made him walk backwards (which he only barely managed without falling)._

 _"_ _I thought maybe we could—" I raised my eyebrows suggestively. He blinked at me and sat down heavily on the bed._

 _"_ _Could—?" he prompted._

 _"_ _You know." I raised my eyebrows again._

 _"_ _Reilen, I'm fairly drunk at the moment," he reminded me. "Perhaps you could be a bit more straightforward?"_

 _"_ _Sherlock, for god's sake you_ _ **have**_ _to know what I mean!" I groaned in exasperation. He squinted at me for a long moment._

 _"_ _No," he said at last. "No idea."_

 _"_ _You're incredibly daft, you know that?" I snapped. "I want to—to make—to—um—" Bloody hell it was going to be harder to get the words out than I had thought. Maybe I wouldn't have to say the words if I just—showed him._

 _"_ _Take off your clothes," I instructed and he opened his mouth but I cut him off. "Don't argue, just do it." He rolled he eyes but complied as I scrambled out of my own clothing. But I couldn't look at him. I tried but only got as far as his chest before my face burned with embarrassment and I had to raise my eyes._

 _"_ _ **Oh**_ _," Sherlock murmured. "I see where this is going."_

 _"_ _Took you long enough," I muttered as I grabbed a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around myself before tossing a sheet over Sherlock's lap._

 _"_ _This seems counterproductive," he pointed out._

 _"_ _Forget it," I replied clutching my blanket tighter around my shoulders. "It was a stupid idea." I turned away but Sherlock caught the back of the blanket, causing me to grip it even tighter to avoid having it pulled away._

 _"_ _Let go of my blanket," I commanded._

 _"_ _Or what?" he chuckled. I was tempted to just drop the blanket and march into the bathroom. Before I could make up my mind one way or the other he released me. His unsteady footsteps teetered around me, stopping in front of me, and his hands rested on my shoulders. The sheet was draped over his shoulders so that he was fully covered._

 _"_ _Have you changed your mind?"_

 _"_ _I just think it was a stupid idea," I muttered keeping my eyes locked on a point over his shoulder. "We're drunk. I wasn't thinking."_

 _"_ _We're sober enough to know what we're doing," he countered._

 _"_ _What?" I challenged shifting my gaze to look him in the eye. "You actually_ _ **want**_ _to? A minute ago you had no idea what was going on."_

 _"_ _Why do you want to do it?" he asked._

 _"_ _I—I'm_ _ **drunk**_ _, Sherlock," I groaned. "It seemed like a good idea when it popped into my head but—but now…"_

 _"_ _ **Why**_ _now?" he pressed. I turned and moved back over to my bed._

 _"_ _It's been five months," I replied. "Nearly six." Sherlock cocked his head._

 _"_ _Five months?" He shook his head slightly, clearly not understanding._

 _"_ _Since we started dating!" I cried._

 _"_ _Yes, and?"_

 _"_ _And normal people would have—done more than we have by now."_

 _"_ _How would you know?" He raised an eyebrow at me. He had me there. I didn't_ _ **actually**_ _know anything from experience. The only people I knew who had anything close to "normal" relationships were John and Carlisle. Since Carlisle was my older brother we didn't talk about this sort of thing…_ _ **ever**_ _and I only knew when John took that particular step because Mycroft told Sherlock, since he was monitoring us and all._

 _"_ _I do know things, you know," I snapped._

 _"_ _Oh yes," Sherlock chuckled as he moved slowly toward me, putting me in mind of a cat stalking its prey. "I'm aware." I sat down heavily on my bed eyeing him with a mixture of annoyance, confusion, and slight unease. The look on his face was somewhere between the look he got when he was coming up with some sort of trick to pull on John (or drug all of us with something) and the look he had the time we faced off with Moriarty at the pool._

 _'_ _What're you doing?" I questioned leaning away from him._

 _"_ _Exactly what you planned." He closed the last few foot or so between us and kissed me…_

It had gone downhill from there. Drunken spur of the moment ideas should never be trusted. I hadn't anticipated the pain that would be involved (maybe if I had been sober I would have thought through all the possibilities). The pain had set off a panic attack and poor Sherlock had to deal with me hiding in the bathroom for an hour crying my eyes out before I calmed down enough to go to bed.

"Did you try again?" Ella inquired.

"Several times," I muttered.

"Hopefully you were sober for those?" Her pen was poised over her pad.

"Painfully sober," I agreed. "I'm starting to think the issue the first time was that I wasn't drunk enough. Maybe I should have been on the verge of a black out."

"Did those go any better?" she asked ignoring my comment.

"It took a while," Sherlock answered. "But yes, they did." Ella beamed at us.

"Well, I'm thrilled for you two," she said. "Really." I rolled my eyes.

" _Thanks_ ," I grumbled sarcastically. God, this was humiliating. She was writing something on her notepad. Probably something about how I was adjusting better than expected.

"Let's talk about why the first time caused a panic attack," Ella suggested. I looked up at the clock and grinned.

"Time to go!" I cried happily as I jumped to my feet. "See you next week Ella. C'mon Sherlock." I dragged him from the office before Ella could protest.

"You can slow down," Sherlock pointed out as I pulled him out of the building. "She's not going to come after us." I kept dragging him along.

"Reilen," he insisted. "Slow down. _Reilen_!" He planted his feet and tugged me to a stop. I stumbled back a few steps and turned to him.

"What, Sherlock?" I asked.

"Do you plan on having us walk all the back to the flat?" he questioned. "Or did you have another destination in mind?"

"We're going home," I answered.

"So you want to walk all that way?" He raised an eyebrow. "I think not. We're getting a cab." He pulled me with him and hailed a cab.

"Walking wouldn't kill us," I muttered grumpily as we climbed in.

"It takes a half an hour to walk from Ella's to the flat," he informed me. "And I have no intention of carrying you when you get tired."

"You _ridiculously_ romantic." I rolled my eyes.

"You've been quite sarcastic lately," he noticed. "It's adorable." I snorted and looked over at him. He gave me a grin and we both started laughing.

"Really though, what's bothering you?" he asked.

"I just don't like having to go over every detail of our relationship," I answered. "I don't like having to worry about what she's writing about us."

"Oh don't worry about her." Sherlock waved away my concerns. "I'm going to tell John that it's time that you stopped having to see her. There's no need for it anymore."

"I still have panic attacks," I reminded him.

"They're occasional and nothing that I can't handle," he countered. I shrugged.

"If you think it's best," I allowed with a grin.

"It'll free you up to work more cases," he said. I leaned my head against his shoulder.

"I do love working cases," I agreed.


	19. The Reichenbach Fall

Chapter 19: The Reichenbach Fall

Months went by and we worked more and more cases. Some days I thought of going back to tutoring but I realized that I would get bored very quickly. Besides, I enjoyed spending all my time with Sherlock. More high profile cases were starting to take over again. There was a kidnapped banker and the capture of the man responsible for it. Sherlock was in the papers again. The reporters had even managed to snap a few pictures of me with him and John and there was all sorts of speculation about what my relationship with Sherlock was.

And then in November, Lestrade brought us the most important case we'd had so far.

* * *

"Kidnapped children?" I questioned. "Doesn't our government have people to handle this since it's the ambassador to the U.S.'s children and all?"  
"Yes well—" Lestrade began. John came up the stairs.

"Sherlock, there's something weird—" he stopped short noticing that Lestrade and Donovan were in the room. "What's going on?"

"Kidnapping," Sherlock answered as he moved over to his laptop and began typing.

"Rufus Bruhl," Lestrade explained to John. "The ambassador to the U.S."

"He's in Washington," John asked. "Isn't he?"

"Not him," Lestrade replied. "His children. Max and Claudette, age seven and nine." He held out some pictures to John. I went to stand closer to him so I could see them too.

"They're at St. Aldate's," Lestrade went on.

"Posh boarding place down in Surrey," Donovan said. I didn't understand why she had to be here. She was always saying something rude about Sherlock. I disliked her probably as much as Sherlock disliked Anderson. Lestrade turned to Sherlock who was still typing and not contributing to the current conversation.

' _What's he doing?_ ' I wondered.

"School broke up," Lestrade explained. "All the other boarders went home, just a few kids remained. Including those two."

"The kids have vanished," Donovan added.

"The ambassador's asked for you _personally_ ," Lestrade told Sherlock. Sherlock stood and walked past all of us toward the door with his coat and scarf over his arm.

"The Reichenbach Hero," Donovan said mockingly. Sherlock hesitated for a moment before continuing on. I glared at her as I moved past her to follow Sherlock.

"Isn't it great to be working with a celebrity?" I heard Lestrade remark in an annoyed tone before he came down the stairs behind us. Lestrade's car was parked in front of the flat. Lestrade and Donovan climbed into the front of the car while Sherlock, John, and I squished together in the back.

It took nearly forty minutes to get to the boarding school. Sherlock stared out the window the whole time but his leg bounced against mine. He was antsy. I wondered why.

* * *

When we reached the school I saw more police and Anderson's forensics team milling about. We got out of Lestrade's car and he pointed to a woman who was leaning against the front of a police car with a blanket around her shoulders. She was crying and a female police officer was speaking to her.

"Miss MacKenzie," Lestrade said. "House Mistress. Go easy." Sherlock strode over to her and I trailed close behind.

"Miss Mackenzie," he said in a very businesslike tone. "You're in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night! What are you an idiot, a drunk, or a criminal!? Now, quickly, tell me!" His voice rose and he whipped the blanket off her shoulders. She let out a strangled cry and looked imploringly at Sherlock.

"All the doors and windows were properly bolted!" she explained tearfully as Sherlock studied her. "No one, not even _me_ , went into their room last night. You have to believe me!" Sherlock leaned in toward her and offered her a slight smile.

"I do," he agreed. "I just wanted you to speak quickly. Miss MacKenzie will need to breath into a bag now." He straightened up and addressed the nearby police officer before heading toward the entrance to the school and I jogged to keep up with him. I could hear Miss MacKenzie sobbing behind us.

"That wasn't going easy on her," I scolded.

"We haven't got time to coddle crying old ladies," he responded. "I needed the information quickly and that was the easiest way to get it."

"Sherlock, that was _not_ okay," John snapped as he caught up with us.

"I've already been properly scolded," Sherlock replied nodding at me. "Lestrade! Show me the girl's room!" Lestrade and Donovan hurried over and led us upstairs to one of the girls' dormitories. Sherlock pushed open the door and glanced at it when it let out a loud squeak. The room was fairly large with a bunch of single beds and several bunk beds. One of the single beds had blankets tangled on top of it.

"Six grand a term, you'd expect them to keep the kids safe for you," John noted as everyone filed into the room. Sherlock began going through the cupboard by the bed with the tangle of blankets.

"So the other kids had all left on their holidays?" John asked. I began looking where Sherlock looked to see if I could notice anything. Sherlock was on the floor, checking under the bed.

"They were the only two sleeping on this floor," Lestrade confirmed. " _Absolutely_ no sign of a break-in. The intruder must have hidden someplace inside." Sherlock grabbed something from the floor by the bed and stood up. In his hand was a lacrosse stick. He examined it and moved it as if he was hitting something with it but then he dropped it to the floor. Apparently, it wasn't important. He moved over to a wooden trunk at the end of the bed. I joined him, expecting him to root through the contents. The first thing I noticed was a brown envelope. Sherlock noticed it too. He grabbed it and ran his fingers over the open flap and the big red wax seal. I'd never seen a parcel sealed with wax; I didn't even know anyone still did that. Sherlock flipped it over but there was no address so he dumped the contents into his other hand and tossed it so it flipped right side up. It was a thick book. _Grimm's Fairy Tales_.

 _"_ _Every fairy tale needs a good old-fashioned villain."_ That's what Moriarty had said. Twice now. Sherlock flipped through the pages and closed the book with a ' _snap_ '.

"Show me where the brother slept," he commanded, dropping the book back into the trunk and slamming the lid. Lestrade led us to the boys' dormitories. Sherlock opened the door to the boy's room and it made a similar squeak. This room was smaller, with fewer beds, all of which were singles. Under a large window were two beds. One had a tangle of bedding on top. As I looked around at the boy's things I saw spy books piled on the night stand.

"Boy sleeps there every night," Sherlock reasoned gesturing to the bed with the messed up blankets. "Gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor." He gestured to the door and the window across from it.

"He'd recognize every shape, every outline," he went on. "The silhouette of everyone who came to the door."

"Okay, so?" Lestrade wondered. He didn't see where this was going but I did.

"So someone approaches the door who he doesn't recognize," I answered. Sherlock nodded and moved back over to the door.

"An intruder," he agreed. "Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon." He stepped into the hallway and closed the door nearly all the way. He was lit from behind and he held up his hand with his fingers pointed in the shape of a gun.

"What would he do," he murmured as he came back in. "In the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them, if not to cry out?" He looked over at the night stand sandwiched between the bed and the wall and moved around the bed to get to it.

"This little boy, this _particular_ little boy, who reads all of those spy books," he went on gesturing to the books. "What would he do?"

"He'd leave a sign?" John guessed. Sherlock sniffed at the air and as I took a deep breath I noticed the scent too. It smelled like cooking oil, like vegetable oil or olive oil. Sherlock sniffed around and grabbed a cricket bat which was leaning against the wall. He sniffed one side of the bat, flipped it over, and sniffed the other side. He kept sniffing around by the night stand until he reached between the stand the bed and produced an empty bottle.

"Get Anderson!" he snapped sternly. Anderson and the forensics team came in and blocked off all the windows so that the room and hallway were as dark as possible. Sherlock grabbed a handheld ultraviolet light and shone it onto the wall over the night stand. The words HELP US were scrawled on the wall.

"Linseed oil," Sherlock explained as he ran the UV light down the wall and toward the floor. Footprints of varying sizes began to appear.

"Not much use," Anderson pointed out. "Doesn't lead us to the kidnapper." Sherlock and I both looked over at him. I cocked an eyebrow at him and Sherlock's eyebrows shot up momentarily.

"Brilliant Anderson," he replied.

"Really?" Anderson asked unsurely. I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing.

"Yes, brilliant impression of an idiot," Sherlock scoffed. He followed the trail along the floor and I followed him.

"The floor," I said when John gave me a questioning look. The others looked down now.

"He made a trail for us," John realized.

"The boy was made to walk ahead of them," Sherlock replied.

"On tiptoe?" John guessed.

"Indicates anxiety," Sherlock agreed. "Gun held to his head." He pantomimed holding a gun aimed at about the height of a child as he led us all into the hallway.

"The girl was pulled beside him," I added. "Dragged sideways." Sherlock nodded.

"He had his left arm cradled about her neck." The trial faded away a few yards from the door.

"That's the end of it," Anderson said moving past Sherlock. "We don't know where they went from here. Tells us nothing after all."

"You're right Anderson," Sherlock concurred. "Nothing." He drew in a breath and continued quickly.

"Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace." He ripped the blackout material off the nearest window and got down on one knee, pulling out his instrument kit. The others walked back toward the bedroom. He chuckled merrily to himself as John and I crouched beside him.

"Having fun?" John questioned.

"Starting to," Sherlock answered as he pulled out a plastic petri dish and took off the lid.

"Maybe don't do the smiling," John told him. "Kidnapped children?" Sherlock considered this before scraping at the footprint he was hovering over. He put the bits of floorboard into the petri dish.

"He's trying to drag this out, isn't he?" I asked quietly as John walked away.

"He does like his games," Sherlock responded.

"Is this it? The fall?" I thought back to how he had glared at the two of us in the flat as he told Sherlock not to be afraid of falling.

"We'll see, won't we?" Sherlock gave me a tight smile as he tucked the petri dish into his pocket and gathered up his tools.

"Come along, John!" he called. "We've got to get to Barts." The three of us left the school and caught a cab back to London.

* * *

"But how did he get past the CCTV?" John asked as we rode along. "If all the doors were locked."

"He walked in when they weren't locked," Sherlock responded.

"A stranger can't just _walk into_ a school like that," John disagreed.

" _Anyone_ can walk in _anywhere_ if they pick the right moment," Sherlock insisted. John gave him a dubious look.

"Yesterday, end of term," I explained to him. "Parent's milling around, chauffeurs, staff. What's one more stranger among that lot?" John nodded in understanding.

"He was waiting for them," Sherlock said. "All he had to do was find a place to hide." John called Mary and filled her in on where we were going and what was going on.

* * *

When we arrived at Barts we headed to the science labs.

"Hang on," Sherlock stopped us at the snack machine and bought two bags of crisps and stowed them in the pockets of his coat. We ran into Molly in the corridor. She looked like she was in a hurry to go somewhere.

"Molly!" Sherlock cried as if he was pleased to see her.

"Oh, hello," she replied. "I was just going out." Sherlock turned her around and herded her back up the corridor.

"No you're not," he said.

"I've got a lunch date," she argued. "Tom—"

"Cancel it," Sherlock ordered. "You're having lunch with me." We all knew Molly still had a bit of a thing for Sherlock. Tom looked incredibly similar to him after all.

"What?" she asked in confusion. Sherlock produced the crisps before shoving them back into his pockets.

"Need your help," he stated. "It's one of your boyfriends; we're trying to track him down. He's been a bit _naughty_." Molly gave me a questioning look.

"We need the lab," I clarified.

"It's Moriarty," John was saying to Sherlock.

"Of course it's Moriarty," Sherlock snapped as he opened the door leading out of the corridor.

"Jim actually wasn't even my boyfriend," Molly told us quickly. "We went out three times. I ended it." She gripped her fingers nervously over the front of her blouse and jumper. Both were equally loud. The jumper was white with red dots and frills on the collar and near the buttons which were also red. Her blouse was purple with a frilly collar and covered with white, black, and pink dots all over it. Looking at it made my eyes hurt, most of her jumpers and blouses had that effect on me.

"Yes," Sherlock agreed. "And then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England, and organized a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly." He brandished a bag of crisps at her again.

"She's dating _Tom_ ," John pointed out.

"Right," Sherlock remembered. "He seems fine, I suppose. Mycroft would have said something if he wasn't."

"You're—you're brother _spies_ on me!?" Molly yelped. Sherlock ignored her and headed through the door. John held the door open for us.

"Mycroft _spies_ on me?" she asked me. I patted her shoulder and nudged her gently through the door.

"He spies on all of us," I informed her. Molly went to get her lab coat and soon joined us in Sherlock's favorite lab with a large stack of files. Sherlock took his place at a microscope and opened the petri dish he had been carrying in his coat.

"How are you going to get anything from wood scrapings?" John asked.

"Oil, John," Sherlock explained. "The oil in the kidnapper's footprint. It'll lead us to Moriarty." Sherlock began dissolving bits of the wood scrapings in various chemicals.

"Yes, but _how_?" John pressed.

"All the chemical traces on his shoe have been preserved," I explained. "The sole of the shoe is like a passport. If we're lucky, we can see everything he's been up to." Sherlock nodded his approval at my explanation. He showed me what was on the slide but I wasn't entirely sure what I was seeing.

As he began looking over the slide under the microscope, Molly and I began helping him.

"I can do it," Molly insisted quietly. "It's my job, after all."

"Sherlock's taught me what to do," I replied. "I like doing this sort of thing."

"I need that analysis," Sherlock ordered. Molly hurriedly finished what we were doing.

"Alkaline," she said.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock muttered.

" _Molly_ ," she replied sharply.

"Yes," Sherlock muttered distractedly. Molly frowned and turned away. I began making a mental list of our findings.

 _1\. Chalk_

Sherlock used tweezers to put another piece of the scrapings into a chemical in a smaller test tube. I squinted at it.

 _2\. Asphalt._

I took another scrapping, crushed it up, and put it into a petri dish. When I dripped another chemical onto it the scraping bubbled and turned brown.

 _3\. Brick Dust_

Sherlock had another one. This one turned green and something floated at the bottom of the test tube.

 _4\. Vegetation_

Sherlock showed me the slide he was currently looking at. Little red squiggles zipped around under the lens. I shook my head at him.

"I don't know," I admitted. "It's a glycerol molecule but—I don't know."

"That's all I've been able to see as well," he said. He went back to examining it. I went over to John who was sitting on the other side of the room. Molly started talking quietly to Sherlock but I couldn't hear their conversation.

"There's one last substance that we can't figure out," I told him. "Some sort of glycerol molecule."

"You'll get it," he said firmly. "You and Sherlock can get it." I gave him a small smile.

"Rei, I'm going to get some crisps," Molly called. "Come with me?"

"I don't want any," I answered.

"Just—come with me, please?" she insisted. Molly so very rarely insisted. I sighed and followed her out of the lab.

"Are you okay?" she asked as we headed down the corridor.

"I'm fine." I furrowed my brow at her unsure of why she was suddenly worried about me.

"It's just that—you look sad," she continued. "When you think Sherlock and John can't see you. Especially when you think Sherlock can't."

"Molly, I don't—" I began.

"My dad was like that before he died," she interrupted. "When he was dying he was always cheerful except when thought we weren't looking. I saw him once. He looked sad. That's how you look when you think they can't see you."

"Molly, we've got bigger problems right now," I snapped. "I'm _fine_."

"No you're not." She stopped walking and grabbed my arm. "Reilen, why won't you talk to me?" She frowned at me with a look of worry that was bordering on anger.

"Is it because of Jim?" she pressed. "Is it because of what he did? Because he's done this, now? And you have to think about him again?" My whole body tensed at the thought of what he had done. I couldn't let myself get distracted. _We were on a case_.

"I can't talk about this right now!" I ground out, yanking my arm out of her grip. "Get your crisps on your own." I stormed back to the lab and left her standing in the corridor.

"PGPR!" Sherlock exclaimed as I walked back into the lab. He jumped up and started gathering his things.

"What's that?" John asked.

"It's used in making chocolate," I answered. "Was that the fifth substance?" Sherlock nodded and swept out of the room.

"Lestrade will need to be updated," he called back to us. I grabbed my coat and John and I hurried after him.

* * *

We took a cab to Scotland Yard. John must have sent him a text to let him know we were coming because he met us in the lobby.

"This fax arrived an hour ago," he said as we walked toward his office. He handed Sherlock a piece of paper. All it said was: HURRY UP THEY'RE DYING! Sherlock handed the paper over to John.

"What've you got for us?" Lestrade wanted to know.

"We need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect," Sherlock answered handing him a list of our findings from the footprint.

"Chalk, asphalt, brick dusk, vegetation..." Lestrade listed. "What the hell is this? _Chocolate_?"

"I think we're looking for a disused sweet factory," Sherlock said.

' _Two kids…chocolate…fairy tales…_ ' I listed mentally.

"Like Hansel and Gretel," I realized. Sherlock nodded.

"We need to narrow that down," Lestrade said to Donovan who sitting at her desk nearby. She stood up quickly.

"A sweet factory with asphalt?" he asked.

"No, no, no," Sherlock stopped him. "Too general. Need something more specific, chalk, chalky clay. That's a far thinner band of geology." He seemed to zone out for a minute. I guessed he was going over a map in his mind palace.

"Brick dust," Lestrade read off to Donovan who was bustling around behind him.

"Building site," Sherlock said, almost to himself. "Bricks from the 1950's." Lestrade ran his hands over his face in frustration.

"There's _thousands_ of building sites in London!" he groaned.

"I've got people out looking," Sherlock snapped as he blinked out of the slight trance he had been in.

"So have I!" Lestrade snapped back.

"Homeless network," Sherlock explained as he paced back and forth. "Faster than the police. Far more relaxed about taking _bribes_." His mobile began beeping repeatedly as a barrage of text messages came in. His eyes darted around like he was looking at points on a map. I wondered if this was what _I_ looked like when I used my mind palace.

"John," he said suddenly before showing us his phone. "Rhododendron ponticum. Matches." He eyes started darting around again. He must have found what he wanted because his eyes widened and he nodded.

"Addlestone," he declared.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"There's a mile of disused factories between the river and the park," Sherlock explained. "It matches everything." Sherlock, John, and I began to leave the room before anyone else had moved.

"Come on," Lestrade ordered everyone else. "Come on!" John looked at his watch as we moved quickly down the hall.

"We can make it," I assured him.

* * *

Lestrade's car pulled up to an abandoned factory, sirens blaring. Several more cars screeched to a halt behind us. Lestrade, Donovan, John, Sherlock, and I jumped out of the car and flew into the factory.

"You, look over there," Donovan commanded the other officers. "Look _everywhere_. Spread out, please. _Spread out_!" Everyone had their own flashlight so there was no need for me to stick close to John or Sherlock. I moved away from them, looking under every pipe and behind every machine.

"Max!" I called out. "Claudette!"

"They'll still here!" Sherlock's voice echoed from somewhere to my left.

"Over here!" Donovan shouted a moment later. I whirled toward the sound of her voice and came face to face with _Sebastian_.

"The Boss misses you," he sneered. I opened my mouth to scream but no sound would come out. My legs felt like they had been turned to jello. I couldn't run. I couldn't scream. Sebastian chuckled as he came forward and pressed a cloth over my mouth and nose. _Chloroform._

' _SHERLOCK!'_ my mind screamed as everything went blurry and I collapsed into his arms.

* * *

A pounding in my head woke me and I pried my eyes open. I wasn't in the factory anymore. I was lying on the floor in a living room. A basement flat judging by the angle of the light coming in from the windows.

"Sherlock?" I groaned groggily. "John?"

"Guess again!" Moriarty's voice giggled. I pushed myself into a sitting position and drew in a shuddering breath.

" _Why_?" I demanded through clenched teeth.

"This is the last phase of my plan, little mouse," he answered as he moved toward me. "Sherlock is going to _burn_. But I wanted to see you one last time before then." He stoked my hair. Anger burned through me and I slapped his hand away.

"Get your hands off of me!" I snarled. In response, a punch connected with my cheekbone. I gritted my teeth.

' _Don't cry. Don't whimper. Don't show any signs of weakness. Sherlock and John will have noticed that I'm gone. They'll be looking for me. They'll find me soon._ '

"You've forgotten who you belong to," Moriarty snapped. "You're _my_ toy. Do I have to hit you to make you work?"

"I've heard that does the trick," Sebastian chuckled.

"Let's try then, shall we?" Moriarty's heel slammed down on my right wrist. I covered my mouth with my left hand to hold back the scream that tried to explode from my mouth. His heel twisted and dug into my wrist. When I still refused to cry his kicked me in the ribs. After several more kicks, a tiny whimper escaped my lips. Then he was crouching next to me, stroking my hair and shushing me.

"It's all right, little mouse," he murmured in a disturbingly gentle voice. "I'll make it better. I'll make it all better." He rolled up my sleeve and then pulled off his belt and wrapped it around my arm, pulling it tight.

"What—what're you…?" I gasped. He took a syringe and a small vial from his pocket.

"Weight?" he asked Sebastian.

"115 pounds," Sebastian provided. Moriarty extracted some of the liquid from the vial.

"This will help with the pain," he told me. "You'll feel better."

"I don't want it!" I whimpered as I cringed away from him. "I don't want it! I don't want it!" Moriarty had no trouble holding me still and jabbing the needle into a vein.

"Please don't," I pleaded.

"It's Dilaudid," Moriarty explained. "That's all." I felt the drugs enter my system as he pushed the plunger down. A tension formed in my shoulders. It burned and ached and I groaned in pain, my lolling back onto Moriarty's shoulder.

"It _hurts_!" I cried as tears leaked from my eyes.

"Just give it a second, little mouse," he insisted in that same gentle tone. "It'll go away." He was right. It felt like something had popped into place and suddenly I felt like I was floating. Moriarty laid me down on my side and brushed the hair off of my face.

"Enjoy it while you can," he instructed. "And be a good little mouse for Sebastian while I'm gone." I felt my eyes rolling back into my head.

"I—I will…" I mumbled.

"You will, _what_?" Moriarty asked.

"I—I will—M—Master," I answered. I heard his hum of approval as I passed out.

 _Molly had_ _ **lost her mind**_ _. I was sure of it. She had been babbling on about a man she'd met at work for the past twenty minutes._

 _"_ _It was love at first sight," she said for probably the fourth time. "I'm sure of it!"_

 _"_ _Molly, how many times have you met him?" I asked._

 _"_ _Um—about two?" She thought for a minute. "No, three."_

 _"_ _Right," I said slowly. "And have you gone out for coffee or anything?" She paused and I could tell where this was going to go._

 _"_ _Well…no."_

 _"_ _What's his name?" I demanded. "_ _ **Please**_ _tell me you know that, at least!"_

 _"_ _Sherlock," she snapped. "Sherlock Holmes. He comes into the morgue when he's working cases. He works with the police."_

 _"_ _How can you love someone you've never even been out for coffee with!?" I groaned._

 _"_ _You'd understand if you met him," she responded getting a dreamy look in her eyes again. "He's so intelligent. And tall. And lean, like_ _ **really**_ _lean. He's wonderful but—"_

 _"_ _ **But**_ _?" I prompted._

 _"_ _He hardly notices me," she sighed dejectedly. "I don't know why but I turn into such a little mouse when he's around."_

 _"_ _Molly, I really don't think this what love at first sight is supposed to be like," I noted doubtfully. "At least, I don't think it's supposed to be so one-sided."_

 _"_ _He'll notice me eventually," she decided. "It'll work out."_

 _"_ _If you're sure." I shrugged…_

"Molly's lost her mind…" I mumbled as my eyes flittered open for a moment. "Completely lost it…"

"Has she now?" Sebastian questioned. "And why's that?"

"Doesn't even know him…" I blinked slowly and my eyes drifted shut again.

 _"_ _When's your lunch break?" I asked Molly as I leaned against a table in the morgue. "Want to go get something to eat?"_

 _"_ _Haven't you got a job you're supposed to be doing?" she teased. I shrugged and fiddled with one of the instruments on the table. I tutored kids in Japanese and creative writing. I went into the schools to do sessions in study halls or some classes most days and I usually had kids after school as well who I met with at the library._

 _"_ _None of the schools asked me to come in and my after school clients won't be 'round until close to four."_

 _"_ _I can't today," Molly replied apologetically. "I just got a text._ _ **He's**_ _coming in and needs me to be here to help him."_

 _"_ _He?" I wondered. "Oh, you mean Sherlock. That bloke you're totally in love with." I gave her a teasing smile. Molly's lips pursed in annoyance._

 _"_ _Yes, he—"_

 _"_ _There you are Molly," a deep voice interrupted as a man strode into the morgue. Molly was right; he was tall, six foot, if my estimate was correct. He looked about the same age as my older brother and had dark curly hair and the most amazing eyes I had ever seen. At first I thought they were bright blue but then the light hit them and they changed to a pale green. The color of green fluorite when it's held up to the light._

 _"_ _Oh." Molly jumped. "Hello, Sherlock. You got here faster than I expected. Um—this is Reilen, my friend from university." She gestured to me although I noticed that she didn't seem too happy about having to introduce me._

 _"_ _Hello," I replied and gave him a small wave._

 _"_ _Yes, hello," he said brusquely. When his back was turned I scoffed softly and smirked to myself. Molly actually believed that he would notice her if given enough time? That was_ _ **never**_ _going to happen! I could tell just by the way he glanced at her like she was hardly there._

 _"_ _Do you have what I asked for?" he asked Molly. She nodded and hurried over to a table with a black body bag on top._

 _"_ _Excellent." Sherlock's face lit up as he unzipped the bag. He peered inside and sniffed deeply._

 _"_ _How fresh?" he asked turning to Molly. She hesitated and looked over at me as if she was worried about how I would take what was unfolding._

 _"_ _Don't mind me," I chuckled. "Do what you need to do." She moved over to the table._

 _"_ _Just in," she answered Sherlock. "Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice." Sherlock zipped up the bag, straightened up, and turned to her. He gave her a false smile that I could see right through._

 _"_ _Fine," he said. "We'll start with the riding crop." Molly removed the corpse from the bag and the two of us went into the observation room next door. From this higher vantage point we watched as Sherlock violently and repeatedly flogged the body with a riding crop._

 _"_ _Does he do this often?" I questioned as Molly flinched beside me. I wasn't all that affected by what was going on. I was more intrigued over_ _ **why**_ _Sherlock was doing that than anything else._

 _"_ _Not always this exact thing," she answered. "He comes in and does all sorts of things. It's for his work."_

 _"_ _With the police?" I frowned. "Do they know he does this? I don't think it's legal."_

 _"_ _It isn't." Molly fidgeted nervously. "I'm not actually supposed to let him do anything in here but—but he_ _ **swears**_ _it's for his work. And he's not actually part of the police. He—sort of—helps out some times."_

 _"_ _He's a consultant," I concluded at once. Molly turned away and grabbed a compact mirror from her purse on the desk. She began applying lipstick._

 _"_ _I'm going to ask him for coffee," she said decisively with a firm nod of her head. "Right now." She headed to the stairs by the door._

 _"_ _Oh, you meant_ _ **right now**_ _," I realized. "All right then." I followed after her and we entered the main morgue just as Sherlock was finishing. He straightened up looking a bit breathless and dropped his riding crop onto the table._

 _"_ _So, bad day, was it?" Molly asked jokingly giving him a smile. Sherlock completely ignored her banter and began writing in a small notebook._

 _"_ _I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes," he instructed. "A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."_

 _"_ _Listen," she said taking a step toward him. "I was wondering, maybe later, when you're finished…" Sherlock glanced at her and did a double take._

 _"_ _Are you wearing lipstick?" he asked. "You weren't wearing lipstick before."_

 _"_ _I—er—I refreshed it a bit," she responded nervously. She gave him a flirtatious smile. Sherlock only gave her a long oblivious look in return before going back to his writing._

 _"_ _Sorry," he said. "You were saying?" Molly took a deep breath and stared at him intently._

 _"_ _I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee," she finished. Sherlock put his notebook away and nodded._

 _"_ _Black, two sugars, please," he requested. "I'll be upstairs." He walked away without waiting for her reply._

 _"_ _Okay," she said in a high tiny voice. She stood still for a minute, just staring after him._

 _"_ _So…" I said slowly. "That's Sherlock." Molly huffed, wiped the lipstick from her lips with a tissue, and headed toward the staff break room._

 _"_ _Yes," she snapped at me. She began preparing a pot of coffee. I noticed that she was purposefully_ _ **not**_ _looking at me. In fact, she was moving around like I wasn't even there. I didn't even know why. Had I really upset her that much?_

 _She stirred the sugar into Sherlock's coffee and headed upstairs to the science labs. Sherlock was in one lab with two other men that I didn't know. One was overweight with glasses and short wavy light brown hair. The other had light brown hair that was almost blonde and light brown eyes. He was about 5'8 in height. He had a cane in one hand but he wasn't leaning on it. It was almost like he had forgotten that he had it. The way he stood made me think he had been in the military._

 _"_ _Ah, Molly, coffee," Sherlock said when he saw us come in. "Thank you." He handed a mobile to the man with the cane and took the coffee from Molly. He blinked and looked closer at her._

 _"_ _What happened to the lipstick?" he asked._

 _"_ _It wasn't working for me," she answered with an awkward smile._

 _"_ _Really?" he turned and started moving toward one of the work stations. "I thought it was big improvement. Your mouth's too small now." He took a sip of the coffee and I noticed the twitch of his shoulders. He must not have liked the taste._

 _"_ _Okay," she said in that same high tiny voice from earlier. Without another word, she turned and left the room. I thought it best not to follow her. Sherlock noticed that I hadn't left and narrowed his eyes at me._

 _"_ _Reilen, wasn't it?" he asked. I nodded and offered him a small smile._

 _"_ _I'll get out of your hair," I responded sheepishly. "Unless you'd like me to remake your coffee?"_

 _"_ _Why would you do that?" he wondered._

 _"_ _Well, you don't like it," I pointed out. "Molly put too much sugar in." He lowered the mug to the table and blinked at me…_

"Four assassins living right on our doorstep," Sherlock's voice said. "They didn't come here to kill me. They have to keep me alive."

"Sherlock," I groaned as I forced my eyes open and looked around trying to find where Sherlock's voice was coming from. A large flat screen television was lit up and showing the inside of 221B. Sherlock was sitting at his laptop and John was looking out the window. Mary hovered nearby looking worried.

"Why did he take her Sherlock?" John asked. "Where is she?"

"We'll find her," Sherlock replied firmly. They started talking about something else. Assassins and Sherlock having something they wanted. Something about a surveillance web and dust.

"Sherlock…there's a camera…" Sebastian laughed and rolled me onto my back.

"God, you're pretty stupid, you know that? Talking to the television." His foot slammed down on my chest and I felt the air leave my lungs. Again and again he stomped on me until I was sure that something was going to crack.

"Time for another dose," he sneered. "The last one hasn't quite worn off yet but the Boss said when those two came home I was to give you the next one."

" _No_ ," I whimpered futilely as he filled the syringe. I could see that the dose was stronger this time. The burning ache returned to my shoulders but it passed quicker than before. My eyes rolled back in my head and I floated away again.

 _Sherlock and John were in the morgue again. They had come to look at a body. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was there with them. John had introduced himself the next time I had seen them at Barts. He and Sherlock were now flatmates. John was really very nice. He was considerate and always smiled at me when I saw the two of them. He was the complete opposite of Sherlock, who hardly paid attention to anyone else and whose smiles almost always seemed fake or forced. I'd been spending a lot of my free time at Barts hoping to run into them. I'd realized the day after I'd met Sherlock that I found him attractive but because of Molly's feelings I didn't feel I could say anything to her._

 _I could tell he found Molly annoying but he didn't seem to mind me. He actually paid attention when I was speaking._

 _"_ _What brings you here this time?" I questioned as I peered between them to get a look at the body._

 _"_ _Reilen," John said with a smile as they turned to me. "Molly didn't mention you were here." I returned his smile._

 _"_ _She doesn't know," I told him. "I only just got here. What happened?" I nodded to the body._

 _"_ _Poison," Sherlock replied. "Something that leaves the system quickly."_

 _"_ _Are you_ _ **sure**_ _it wasn't just natural causes?" Lestrade questioned. "She was pretty old. That's why the family didn't want a full autopsy." Sherlock rolled his eyes._

 _"_ _Her medical records show that she was in perfectly good health," he retorted. "Would someone in good health really just fall down dead in the middle of a family dinner? No, she was poisoned."_

 _"_ _Why would anyone poison an old lady?" John demanded._

 _"_ _She was getting on in years," Sherlock said simply._

 _"_ _Yes, and?" Lestrade snapped._

 _"_ _Well, she's around, ninety-five," I noted. "Judging by how well her hair and nails are done and the traces of perfume still on her, she had a substantial amount of money. Someone probably got tired of waiting for their inheritance."_

 _"_ _My thought's exactly," Sherlock shot me a genuine grin and turned to Lestrade. "Arrest the nephew."_

 _"_ _If you're_ _ **sure**_ _," Lestrade said. Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow at him._

 _"_ _Yes, all right," he snapped before walking out of the room._

 _"_ _Well done," Sherlock said to me. "This is the fifth time you've done that." I had no idea he was counting._

 _"_ _How_ _ **did**_ _you do that?" John asked._

 _"_ _I observed," I answered simply._

 _"_ _Well, I looked at her too but I couldn't see all that," John said._

 _"_ _Looking and observing isn't the same thing," I replied._

 _"_ _I keep telling him that," Sherlock agreed…_

"Too late to go on the record?" Sherlock's voice quipped. I opened my eyes and saw him and John sitting in an unfamiliar living room. I noticed Kitty Riley standing by the door. It must have been her flat. It was so hard to focus on what was happening. I had no idea how much time had passed or why they were there. Sebastian grabbed a fistful of my hair and hauled me into a sitting position.

"You're gonna want to watch this bit," he sneered.

"Man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pocket," Sherlock was practically growling at Kitty. " _What_ were his credentials?" What was he talking about? The door to the flat opened.

"Darlin' they didn't have any ground coffee, so I just got normal," an Irish voice called out. Sherlock whirled around and Kitty stood quickly. It was Moriarty. His voice trailed off when he saw Sherlock and I saw the shock register on Sherlock and John's faces. Moriarty was dressed exactly like he had been the night he had summoned me for Thanksgiving dinner.

Moriarty began babbling in a frightened voice like he was afraid of John and Sherlock. Kitty was calming him down, explaining to John that there was no Moriarty. Jim Moriarty was in fact a man named Richard Brook and he was an actor. Sherlock had hired him to play Moriarty. Sherlock and John were shouting and then chasing Moriarty up a flight of stairs.

"How'd you like that?" Sebastian hissed in my ear. "By tomorrow Sherlock Holmes will be nothing but a fraud."

"He's not!" I cried. "Sherlock would never do that! He's going to prove that Moriarty's not an invention!" A jolt of electricity shot through me and I collapsed onto the floor. Sebastian knelt beside me with a Taser in one hand.

"By this time tomorrow he'll be _dead_." Sebastian shocked me again. My muscles locked and I jerked violently. It felt like I was on fire. This was worse than the "experiment". That had been one continuous shock. This was one shock, a pause, and then another.

It seemed like hours before Sebastian stopped. There was blood in my mouth. I had bit something. My lip…my cheek…my tongue…I wasn't sure.

"Bet you want your dose now, huh?" he laughed as he filled the syringe. An even stronger dose this time. I was actually glad to pass out.

 _"_ _Thanks," I mumbled tearfully as I took the cup of tea that Molly offered me._

 _"_ _I can't believe Amanda did that," she huffed angrily. "Can she really just kick you out like that?" I shrugged and took a sip of my tea._

 _"_ _She could certainly make my life hell until I moved out on my own," I muttered. "Maybe she thought this way would be less trouble." A sob bubbled out of my throat._

 _"_ _What am I going to do!?" I cried. "I don't have anywhere to go!"_

 _"_ _What about your parents' place?" Molly suggested. "Or your brother's?" I shook my head._

 _"_ _Carlisle's place is too small, it's just a one room," I replied. "And my parents' turned my old room into a study. There'd be no place for all my stuff." Molly chewed her bottom lip worriedly._

 _"_ _I'd say you could stay with me but there'd be no room there either," she said apologetically. "I'm sorry."_

 _"_ _Hello Molly," John's voice said cheerfully as he and Sherlock walked into the lab. "Reilen, what's wrong?"_

 _"_ _My—my flatmate kicked me out," I explained as I swiped at the tears on my cheeks._

 _"_ _She doesn't have anywhere to stay," Molly added. "My place is too small."_

 _"_ _We've got room," John offered. "I'm away a lot since I stay over at Sarah's place most nights. You could share my room."_

 _"_ _Really?" I asked hopefully looking between him and Sherlock._

 _"_ _If you don't mind," John said to Sherlock._

 _"_ _It wouldn't bother me," Sherlock agreed. I beamed at the two of them._

 _"_ _Thank you!" I gushed. "Thank you! It'll only be for a little while, I promise. Just until I can get my own flat."_

 _"_ _Stay as long as you need to," John insisted…_

"Time to wake up, little mouse," Moriarty called quietly. I jerked awake and flinched when his hand stroked my hair.

"Dreaming about Sherlock?" he guessed. "You were muttering his name."

"Let me go," I begged, avoiding the question.

"We'll see how it goes," Moriarty replied. "You might get to go home or you might die. It all depends on Sherlock." Sebastian picked me up and carried me to a car waiting outside. As we drove I realized that we were heading toward Barts. Moriarty had the syringe in his hand again.

"Just a little bit this time," he said as he injected the Dilaudid into me. "Just to keep you nice and out of it." I returned to that floaty state but I didn't pass out. The rest of the car ride was hazy. The next thing I knew, we were on the rooftop. There was rope around my chest tied like a harness.

"Step up on the ledge," Moriarty instructed. I did as I was told and I felt the other end of the rope go taut as it was tied to something solid. I wouldn't be able to fall forward. I stared down at the street but due to the drugs in my system I wasn't bothered by the height. Moriarty was beside me again.

"When you hear a gunshot I want you to step forward," he said.

"I'll die," I mumbled in confusion.

"Yes," he agreed. "And I'll have finally destroyed Sherlock. Now tell me what you're going to do when you hear a gunshot."

"I'm going to step forward," I responded.

"Good girl." He was stroking my hair again. "I'm going to miss you, little mouse. I had so much fun with you. Pay attention, now. _Listen for the gunshot_." Then he was gone. I could hear the song Stayin' Alive playing faintly nearby but I wasn't sure if it was real or if I was imagining it. It was daylight now and the sun hurt my eyes. Stayin' Alive had been playing on repeat. I was getting sick of listening to that song.

* * *

The door to the rooftop let out a loud scraping squeak as it opened.

"Well, here we are at last," Moriarty called so Sherlock must have arrived. "You and me, Sherlock. And our problem, the final problem." He went on talking but I couldn't focus. Sherlock was talking now too but the only thing occupying my mind was listening for a gunshot. It was the only thing that mattered. Moriarty had told me to _pay attention_. Moriarty shouted and I flinched.

"Reilen," Sherlock called. "Come down from there. Moriarty can't hurt you. You're tied up, you won't fall." I knew that was true. The rope was still taut and Moriarty was further away. But the rope was only taut because I was leaning forward. I was so out of it that my body was trying to collapse. The only thing keeping me upright was the rope.

"She's not going anywhere." Moriarty's voice was closer now, somewhere behind me. They went back to their conversation. Then he and Sherlock were beside me, looking over the ledge at the street below.

"I love newspapers," Moriarty said. "Fairy tales. And pretty grim ones too."

"I can still prove that you created a completely false identity," Sherlock snapped sharply. Now that they were right beside me I could watch them.

"Oh, just kill yourself, it's a lot less effort," Moriarty complained. "Go on. For me." Sherlock started pacing, breathing hard.

" _Pleeeeeaaaseee_?" Moriarty squealed. Sherlock grabbed him by the front of his coat and held him over the edge of the roof. Sherlock's heavy breathing filled the air.

"You're insane," he snarled.

"You're just getting that now?" Moriarty questioned. Sherlock jerked him like he was going to shove him backwards.

"Whoa!" Moriarty yelped. "Whoa whoa whoa!" Sherlock pulled him back a step.

"Okay," Moriarty said slowly. "Let me give you a little extra incentive." The door to the roof opened again.

"Your friends will _die_ if you don't."

"Sherlock!" John cried. Sherlock turned. I craned my neck around and saw him kneeling on the roof. Sebastian stood over him with his pistol aimed at the back of John's head.

"John?" he asked turning back to Moriarty.

"Not just John," Moriarty answered. "Everyone."

"Mrs. Hudson?"

" _Everyone_."

"Lestrade?" He looked over at me. "Reilen?"

"Three guns, three gunmen, three victims, and Reilen jumps," Moriarty threatened. "There's no stopping them now." Sherlock yanked him roughly back from the ledge.

"Unless my people see you jump," Moriarty went on. "You can have me arrested. You can torture me. You can do anything you like with me. But nothing's going to stop them from pulling the trigger." He came over and I felt the rope go slack but I could still feel something holding me back. Moriarty was holding the rope now.

"You're only three friends in the world and your sweet little girlfriend will die," he told Sherlock. " _Unless_ …"

"I kill myself," Sherlock finished. "Complete _your_ story."

"You've got to admit that's sexier."

"And I die in disgrace," Sherlock said in a low voice.

"Of course, that's the point of this," Moriarty pointed out. "Look, you've got an audience now. Off you pop. Go on." Sherlock stepped onto the ledge.

' _No!_ ' I cried in my mind. ' _Sherlock you can't do this! Don't do this!_ '

"Sh— _Sherlock_." Was all that came out of my mouth. I could hear Sherlock's breath shuddering in and out. He was scared. I had never seen Sherlock truly afraid before.

"I told you how this ends," Moriarty taunted. "You're death is the only thing that's going to call off the killers. I'm certainly not going to do it."

"Sherlock, _don't_!" John pleaded.

"Would you give me one moment, please?" Sherlock requested. "One moment of privacy. Please?"

"Of course," Moriarty agreed. Sherlock took several deep breaths. Out of nowhere, he began to laugh. I wasn't expecting _that_.

" _What_?" Moriarty demanded. "What is it? What did I miss?" Sherlock stopped laughing and hopped back onto the roof.

" _You're_ not going to do it?" he asked. "So the killers _can_ be called off then, there's a recall code or a word or a number. I don't have to die…if I've got you." He sang out the last sentence.

"Oh!" Moriarty laughed. "You think you can _make me_ stop the order? You think _you_ can make me do that?"

"Yes," Sherlock concurred. "So do you."

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the king's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to." I listed forward and I felt Moriarty pull me back. I was zoning out again. I wished I could get off this ledge.

"Tell you what," Moriarty proposed. "Since you think you can stop me I'm going to kill one of these two but I'll let you save either John or Reilen. _As long as you jump after_." Sherlock didn't say anything for a minute.

"Only one of them?" he asked. "You can't just let them go if I promise to jump?"

"No," Moriarty answered. "You thought you could stop me. This is your punishment."  
"I choose…" Sherlock hesitated. " _Vatican cameos_!" The signal that meant that someone was going to die. But he hadn't said one of our names so who…? There was a scuffle behind me and I looked back. Sebastian was unconscious at John's feet.

"So you're choosing to kill Reilen, then?" Moriarty wondered. "Funny, I thought you loved her more than that. Oh, wait, you don't _feel love_ , do you?"

"I'm not choosing either of them," Sherlock snapped. "They're not going to die."

"You forget that _I'm_ holding Reilen's life in my hands," Moriarty sneered. "And like I said, not even your brother could make me let her live."

"Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember?" Sherlock growled. "I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared to _burn_. Prepared to do what ordinary people won't do." He paused.

"You want me to shake hands with you in Hell?" Sherlock continued. "I shall not disappoint you."

"Nah," Moriarty said dismissively. "You talk big. Nah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary; you're on the side of the _angels_."

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels," Sherlock agreed in a dangerous, low, voice. "But don't think _for one second_ that I am one of them."

"No," Moriarty said after a moment. "You're not." There was another pause.

"I see," he went on. "You're not ordinary. No. You're _me_. You're me." He was chuckling now.

"Thank you," he said in a high voice. "Sherlock Holmes. Thank you. _Bless you_." The rope wasn't quite as taut all of a sudden.

"As long as I'm alive, you can save your other friends and Reilen," Moriarty told Sherlock. "You've got a way out. Well, good luck with that." The rope was pulled back slightly and I shifted back half a step. Sherlock let out a shout and the rope went completely limp. There was a _bang_ that echoed around the rooftop. A gunshot.

 _"_ _When you hear a gunshot I want you to step forward."_ Moriarty's order echoed in my head. _"Listen for the gunshot."_ I shifted forward again.

" _Sherlock_!" John's voice shouted urgently. The harness crushed into my chest and I was yanked backwards. Sherlock's arms closed around me, pinning my arms to my sides and holding me so tightly that it felt like he was trying to force me to literally melt into him.

"I don't like repeating myself, Reilen," he said in my ear. "And I know you heard me say that neither you nor John were going to die." He sank onto the roof with me still in his arms.

"Is she all right?" John asked as he rushed over. The rope was ripped off of me by one of them, I couldn't' tell which.

"Moriarty told you that you had to step off the roof when you heard a gunshot, didn't he?" Sherlock asked.

"Uh-huh," I mumbled as my head lolled onto his shoulder.

"He was assuming that Moran was going to shoot you, John, and then Reilen would step off the roof," Sherlock explained. "You'd both be dead. I'd have failed to save even one of you and it would be that much easier to convince me to take my own life."

"What's he done to her now?" John demanded as he looked me over. He was shining a light into my eyes.

"Dilaudid," I mumbled. "Lots of doses."

"Reilen, this is important," John said loudly, presumably to make me focus. "Do you know how many doses he gave you?"

"Um—there were—there were five." I screwed my eyes shut, trying to think. "They kept getting bigger but then the last one was small."

"She needs to be taken to hospital," John said to Sherlock. "She's got Taser burns and bruising and—"

"We can't do that yet," Sherlock stopped him. "I still need to complete Moriarty's story."

"Sherlock, you can't be serious!" John snapped.

"It's the only way to save Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade," Sherlock snapped back. "I've got a plan. Mycroft has—look it's all been arranged but I need you and Reilen to go down to the street. It has to seem like you think I'm dead."

"You want us to help you _fake your own death_?" John cried incredulously. "Sherlock, Reilen can hardly stand!" Fake his own death? What was he on about now?

"Please, John, there's no other way." John huffed for a minute.

"All right, fine," he ground out. "I'll pretend I think you're dead."

"Reilen," Sherlock had my face in his hands. "Reilen, look at me." I opened my eyes and stared up at him.

"I'm tired, Sherlock," I complained.

"I know," he replied quietly. "I know and you can sleep soon, I promise. But I need you to go with John and I need you to pay attention to what happens."

"You won't die," I said slowly. "Right? You promise?" Sherlock put his forehead against mine.

"It's just a magic trick," he assured me. "Nothing more."

"I love you, Sherlock," I murmured.

"I—" He hesitated. "I know. You have to go now." John pulled me from Sherlock's arms and half carried and half walked me across the roof. I vaguely registered that Moriarty was lying on the roof with a pool of blood spreading from the back of his head. Before I could really wrap my head around what that meant John was taking me down the stairs. Then we were outside and crossing the street. There was a light drizzle falling from the clouds. When had it started to rain? Hadn't it just been sunny?

"All right," John said and I realized that he was speaking into his mobile. "We're in front of the ambulance bay." I looked up and saw Sherlock standing on the edge of the roof. Panic burned all the rational thoughts out of my mind. John was still talking to him. There was something about this I was supposed to remember but I couldn't think. Was John trying to talk him down? He wasn't seriously going to jump…was he?

' _Moriarty said he had to,_ ' I remembered. ' _Moriarty said if he didn't we'd all die._ ' John was gasping, worked up, clearly upset. I couldn't breathe. He really meant to do it. _He was going to kill himself_. John was still talking but I couldn't focus on what he was saying. I couldn't think about anything other than the fact that _Sherlock was going to kill himself_. John put the phone to my ear.

"He—he wants to talk to you."

"Sherlock?" I asked worriedly. "What're you doing?"

"I'm sorry," he answered. "This is the only way. Everything—it's just a magic trick, Reilen."

' _He's crying._ ' My eyes widened.

"No," I pleaded. "Don't— _Sherlock_."

"Goodbye, Reilen." I watched as he threw his mobile behind him.

" _SHERLOCK_!" John shouted. Above us, Sherlock stretched out his arms and stepped off the roof.

"Sherlock," John gasped. His arms flailed as he fell, like he was trying to slow his fall. A sickening ' _crunch_ ' reached my ears.

"Oh my god," I whimpered. "He didn't—he's not…" John started running and dragging me with him. I caught a glimpse of Sherlock's body lying in a pool of blood before John was knocked to the ground by a passing man on a bicycle. When John fell I went with him.

" _Oh_ ," he groaned in pain.

"John, get up," I groaned as I tried to stand but found it too difficult on my own. "Hurry, Sherlock's—"

' _He's hurt,_ ' my brain insisted. ' _He's hurt but he'll be okay._ ' John and I went toward where Sherlock was laying. People were all around him now. John was pushing his way through the crowd, insisting that they let him through since he was a doctor.

"He's my friend," I heard him insist. " _He's my friend_. _Please_." The people trying to hold us back finally let us reach Sherlock. John grabbed Sherlock's wrist, feeling for a pulse. A woman pulled his hand away after a minute. I reached out to check but the woman was moving us back.

"John," I gasped as tears filled my eyes. "John, his pulse was—how was it?" John's face was white. He shook his head slowly.

"No—no pulse." He looked like he was going to be sick. He had to be wrong. What had Sherlock said before? Something mad about faking his own death? How could there be no pulse if it was fake? A gurney was brought out.

"Please," John begged. "Let me just…" He sagged against someone and went limp for a moment.

"Oh, Jesus, no…" he moaned as the nurses rolled Sherlock onto his back and we could see the blood soaking his dark curls. " _God no_." There was blood on his face, under his nose, streaked across the bridge of his nose and near his eyes. _His eyes_. They were wide open. His beautiful, intelligent, pale green eyes were dull and lifeless. I stared at his face, every detail burning itself into my mind. _Sherlock_. _Was_. _Dead_.

" _NO_!" I sobbed and everything went black.


	20. The Plan

Chapter 20: The Plan

I woke up on Sherlock's side of the bed, curled in a small tight ball. My head was pounding. I felt like I was going to be sick.

' _Side effects of the Dilaudid,_ ' my brain supplied. ' _Moriarty gave me too much too fast. I'll be sick for a while. If I puke in his spot Sherlock—_ ' A pain stabbed through my chest at the thought. Sherlock was gone. _Sherlock was dead_. No. He couldn't be. Sherlock wouldn't—

I scrambled out of bed and ran into the living room. I found John sitting in his chair just staring at nothing.

"No," I whimpered. " _No_."

"Rei." John turned to me. It was there, written all over his face. He was devastated. Sherlock was his best friend and now he was gone.

"Reilen, you should sit down." I turned toward the sound of Mary's voice and saw her sitting on the sofa.

"He's not dead," I stated flatly. "He said—on the rooftop—he said it was just fake. He's _not_ dead."  
"I felt the lack of a pulse myself," John reminded me. "You saw him. You saw the blood—his—his eyes…" The image of Sherlock's bloody face and wide lifeless eyes rose in my mind. I stumbled over to Sherlock's chair and collapsed onto it.

"He promised," I sobbed. "He _promised_!" I curled up in the chair and sobbed into the back cushion. Whenever John or Mary tried to come over and comfort me I knocked their hands away. I didn't want to be touched. I didn't want _comfort_. I wanted _Sherlock_.

* * *

The next few days were hazy at best. Preparations were made for the funeral. Mycroft was kind enough to let John and I have a part in the decisions. I wasn't much help. I could only nod along with whatever John chose. My family came the day after…after it happened. They wanted to help, to be there for me, but I didn't want anything from them. I wanted to be left alone. I didn't want to have to entertain my sisters or worry about what they'd heard and the questions they had. I didn't want to see my parents and Carlisle worrying over me. And I finally understood how hard it must have been for Sherlock to stay away from heroin. I wanted Dilaudid more than anything else in the world. I wanted it more than food, more than air. I wanted something to make me numb. John went to see Ella but I refused to go. John was angry at Sherlock. So angry that he decided that he needed to stay over at Mary's for a few days. I didn't mind being left alone in the flat. My family was staying there with me but they would be leaving after the funeral.

* * *

On the day of the funeral John, Mary, Mrs. Hudson, and I took a cab to the graveyard. My family was behind us in another cab and Mycroft met us there in one of his town cars. Lestrade was there was well. No one else came. Moriarty's plan had worked. Sherlock had been disgraced and the public thought he was a fraud.

"There's all this _stuff_ ," Mrs. Hudson said as she, John, Mary, and I were standing around Sherlock's grave while the others waited at the cars to give us some privacy. "All this science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don't know what needs doing. I thought I'd take it to a school. Would you…?" She turned to John. I frowned at the idea of her giving away Sherlock's things. I hadn't even realized that she'd been boxing anything up.

"I can't go back to the flat again," John said firmly. "Not at the moment." He looked at me apologetically. I shrugged. Mrs. Hudson put a hand on his arm and held onto him.

"I'm angry," John explained to her. He took a deep breath.

"It's okay John," she assured him. "There's nothing unusual in that. That's the way he made everyone feel." I remembered the last time I had had a fight with Sherlock. It had been the day he had put drugs in my tea. I'd been livid with him that day. God, what I wouldn't give to be able to fight with him again.

"All those marks on my table," Mrs. Hudson ranted. "And the _noise_. Firing guns at half past one in the morning."

"Yeah," John sighed.

"Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine, keeping bodies where there's food."

"Yes," John agreed. We'd put up with it often enough, she really didn't need to remind us.

"And the _fighting_!" Mrs. Hudson cried through gritted teeth. "Drove me up the wall with all his carryings on."  
"Yeah, listen," John stopped her as he turned to her and patted her hand. "I—I'm not actually that angry, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed tearfully. "I'll leave you two alone to, you know…" Mary smiled sadly at the two of us and walked back to the car with Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson was sobbing softly. John took a deep breath and looked back at them. He turned back and looked hard at Sherlock's headstone.

"Um…" he said after a minute. "Mmm, you…you told me once…that you weren't a hero." He paused and I could see the tears in his eyes.

"There were times I didn't even think you were _human_ ," he went on. "But let me tell you this, you were the best man and the most human…human being that I've ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, okay? So… _there_." He sighed sadly and touched the top of Sherlock's headstone.

"I was…" he said softly before continuing in a stronger voice. "I was so alone. And I owe you so much." He cleared his throat and started to walk away but turned back.

"Oh, please, there's just one more thing, right?" he pleaded. " _On more thing_. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be…dead." His voice broke on the last word and I bit my lip to hold back my own tears.

"Would you, just for me," he sobbed. "Just _stop it_. Stop this." He sighed heavily and sobbed into his hand for a minute. Then he composed himself, turned on his heel, and walked away. When he was gone I knelt at the edge of the freshly covered grave and stared at the black marble headstone with Sherlock's name carved in gold lettering.

"If you won't do it for John then do it for me," I said softly. "I've never asked you for anything, Sherlock. You know that. Please, just do this one thing for me, for John. We need you. _I need you_." I placed my hand on the dirt. Tears spilled from my eyes and dripped from my chin.

"You said I didn't have to be alone anymore," I sobbed. "You _said_ —and now I'm alone again. Sherlock, you—you make me _so mad_! You _lied_!" I slammed my fist against the ground and sobbed quietly for a minute.

"I don't want to be alive anymore, Sherlock," I told the dirt. "John has Mary, he'll—he'll be all right eventually. But I don't want to be alive without you." I took several deep breathes and stood shakily. It was time to go home. It was time to end everything. I touched the top of the headstone exactly where John had before turning and heading back to where the others were.

* * *

"Should we stay longer, do you think?" Mum asked worriedly when we returned to Baker Street after the funeral. "I don't like the thought of leaving you by yourself."

"Mary and I will be staying for a while," John informed her. "We'll look out for her." This was news to me. Hadn't he just said he couldn't come back to the flat? I tried not to act too upset over this but how was supposed to do what I needed to do if John and Mary were going to be here?

"Call us if there's anything—" Mum cast one last worried look at me. Then they were gone.

"I thought you couldn't come back here?" I questioned John.

"Mary and I talked about it," he replied. "And—and we want to stay with you for a bit. You shouldn't be alone."

"I'm going to bed," I muttered.

"Oh, but I was about to make some dinner," Mary protested. I shook my head and waved off the concerned look from John.

"Not hungry." I went back to my room and curled up on the bed, hugging Sherlock's pillow to my chest. It still smelled like him.

"Why'd you leave me?" I whimpered as my tears soaked the pillow. "Why can't I hate you for leaving me?" I wanted to hate him, god how I wanted to hate him. But I couldn't bring myself to think about him like that. I'd loved him for years. He'd saved me from Moriarty. He'd kept looking for me even though Moriarty had expected him to give up. He'd taken care of me when I'd been broken. He'd _put me back together_. I couldn't hate him after all that.

"I love you, Sherlock," I whispered into the darkness of the room.

* * *

" _Where is she_!?" I jerked awake at the barked words.

"Sherlock?" I mumbled groggily.

' _No_ ,' I reminded myself. ' _No. He's gone._ ' The door to the bedroom was thrown open and I squinted against the light spilling in from the hallway. A shadowy figure stood in the doorway. The overhead light flared to life and I shut my eyes.

" _John_ ," I groaned. "Turn that off." I was grabbed by my shoulders and yanked forward. The scent of Sherlock's cologne filled my nose and suddenly I couldn't breathe.

"What have you done?" he demanded in a low tone. "What did you take? _Reilen_ , _what did you take_!?" He shook me and I finally was able to draw in a breath.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you talking about?" John snapped.

"She said she was going to kill herself," Sherlock ground out. "In the graveyard, she said she didn't want to be alive anymore. It'd be easy enough to do it even with you and Mary right here." My brain finally caught up with what the rest of my body had already realized. _Sherlock wasn't dead_.

"YOU—" I began to shout before Sherlock clamped his hand over my mouth.

"No one can know," he said quietly. "The world has to believe that I'm dead." He took his hand away and I punched his arm as hard as I could.

"You _bastard_!" I snarled. "I thought you were _dead_! We _buried you_!" Sherlock gave me a grumpy scowl and rubbed his arm.

"It was part of the plan," he snapped.

"You said it would be fake!" John cried in a hushed voice. "I felt your pulse! You were _dead_!"

"You're grief had to be believable," Sherlock explained. "It was the only way for the plan to succeed."

"What're you going to do now?" Mary asked. "What was the point of all of this?"

"I'm going to dismantle Moriarty's network," Sherlock said. "I leave later tonight. I only came because I thought Reilen was in danger."

"Don't go," I pleaded, gripping the sleeves of his coat tightly. "Please, don't leave yet."

"Mycroft is unhappy enough as it is," Sherlock argued. "I wasn't supposed to come back here until it was finished."

"Then it shouldn't matter if you stay a bit longer," John countered. "Just one night, Sherlock." Sherlock sighed in annoyance and pulled out of my grasp.

"I'll give him a call," he agreed as he fished his mobile out of his pocket. It didn't ring for very long before he tensed, obviously Mycroft wasn't pleased that he was calling.

"Yes, Mycroft, I'm still here," he answered in a clipped tone. "Reilen is fine." He paused and his mouth twisted in a grimace.

"Well I couldn't have known that, could I?" he snapped back. "For all I knew she was lying in a pool of her own blood—"  
"Yes I'm _aware_ of that, brother dear." His jaw was clenched tightly. The conversation didn't seem to be going well.

"I'm staying the night," he bit out. "Well that's just too bad, isn't it? Yes, I'll be there tomorrow evening. No, no need to send a car. I can get there on my own." He hung up without saying goodbye.

"Have you eaten?" Mary asked him. "John and I were in the middle of dinner. Reilen, you need to eat too."

"I'm not hungry," Sherlock and I answered in unison.

"Get in the kitchen," John snapped. Sherlock and I rolled our eyes and followed John and Mary out of the bedroom.

"Who else knows, hmm?" John asked as Mary set out two more plates. "About this—this _plan_."

"Mycroft, Molly," Sherlock listed. "Some of my homeless network."

"Mrs. Hudson?" John demanded.

"Of course not," Sherlock scoffed.

"So you were just going to disappear, is that it?" John was getting angrier by the second. "You were just going to leave us behind and let us think you were dead."

"What would you have me do, John?" Sherlock snapped. "Had you known I was alive and managed to be convincingly grief-stricken at my funeral what would happen if I died while I was away?"

"We'd have to go through it all over again," I volunteered. "But no one would be allowed to know why next time." John took a deep breath and sat back in his chair.

"I don't think I can handle you dying twice, Sherlock," he sighed.

"Precisely why I kept you out of the loop."

"Then why tell us it was fake at all?" I demanded. "You said all that stuff and then tricked us into thinking you were dead. What was the point in asking for our help?"

"It was the only way to get you both off that rooftop," he explained.

"But you _promised_ that you wouldn't die!" I ground out, clenching my teeth in an attempt to keep myself from shouting.

"Well, I'm not dead, am I?" he pointed out with a raise of his eyebrow.

" _But we thought you were_!" I was going to start screaming at him in a minute. Why was he acting like this wasn't a big deal!? He had to know that all of this had torn John and me apart.

"I never promised," Sherlock said sharply. "You asked me to promise but I never did." I blinked and thought hard for a minute.

"No—you did," I argued as the scene replayed itself in my mind. "You put your forehead to mine and said…" _It's a magic trick. Nothing more._ Those were his exact words. I closed my eyes and sighed heavily.

"Said what, Reilen?" Sherlock prompted even though he _knew exactly_ what he had said.

"It's a magic trick," I repeated. "Nothing more."

"I can't help it if you didn't listen."

"Sherlock, so help me I'm going to—" John fumed.

"Take a deep breath, John," Mary advised. I opened my eyes and gazed at Sherlock. I had thought that I was never going to see him again. I had been prepared to kill myself because of it. And he had come rushing home because he was worried that I had.

' _But he still couldn't tell me he loved me._ ' I ground my teeth together. This thought made me angrier than everything else. I hated that it did that. I knew how things worked with Sherlock. I knew he wouldn't tell me he loved me until he was ready, that there was a chance that he would never say those words to me. And that made me angrier than I expected. I _wanted_ him to love me.

' _This is why John didn't want us dating,_ ' I reminded myself. ' _This is_ _ **exactly**_ _what he knew would happen._ '

"I'm glad you're not dead," I remarked as I finished off the food on my plate and carried it to the sink. "Can we go to bed now?" Sherlock blinked at me as I whisked his empty plate off the table.

"If that's what you want to do," he agreed. I nodded and said good night to John and Mary. Sherlock followed me into our room where I began getting ready for bed. I knew he was watching me, I could feel his eyes following me around the room but I ignored him.

"You're angry with me," he said after a few minutes.

"That's a brilliant deduction," I noted my voice dripping with sarcasm.

" _Why_?" he questioned. "I came back for you. I risked the plan for you."

"It's only at risk because you didn't tell me what the plan was in the first place!" I snapped as I yanked my pajama top over my head.

"That's not it, is it?" he asked. "You'd let that go a while ago. What is it, Reilen?"

"You didn't say it back!" I cried as I whirled around to face him. He blinked and narrowed his eyes.

"What're you talking about?" he demanded.

"I told you I loved you," I hissed through clenched teeth. " _And you didn't say it back_!" Sherlock straightened up and I watched his face close off.

"You know I don't have time for those types of emotions," he said calmly. "They muddle things, cloud judgment. Caring is not an advantage."

"But you came back because you were afraid I was dead," I pointed out. "You put me back together after everything Moriarty had done. You didn't give up even though he thought you would. You _care_ , Sherlock. You just don't want to admit it." He cocked his head, studying me.

"Mycroft has you convinced that caring isn't useful to the two of you but he can't keep himself for caring for you, can he?"

"And look at all the trouble I cause him because of it," Sherlock argued. I crossed my arms over my chest and straightened my spine.

"So I'm just a burden to you, is that it?" I challenged.

"No," Sherlock said slowly. "That's not what I—"

"So do you care about me or not?" I knew the answer to this. He'd already proven it more than once.

" _Of course_ I do!" His voice rose slightly.

"Then why can't you say that you love me?" My voice lowered, becoming calmer as Sherlock grew more upset. He looked close to pulling his hair out. I'd cornered him and he _hated_ being cornered.

' _He's afraid to say it out loud,_ ' I realized. He had told my sisters that he loved me (his exact wording had been "I suppose I do" but I had taken it to mean that he did) but he had never said the words out loud.

"Why are you afraid of saying it?" I questioned. He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"I'm not."

"Yes you are, but _why_?"

" _Because I don't have time for that emotion_!"

"Love isn't an emotion, Sherlock," I told him. "It's a promise." Sherlock shook his head.

"A promise?" he asked. "A promise to what?"

"To always be there," I answered. "No matter what."

"But I _can't_ ," he cried in agitation. "Can't you see that!? I _can't_ be! I've got to dismantle Moriarty's network and that might take years! I'll only be able to come back once in a while. There might be weeks in-between—maybe months."

"As long as you come back," I responded calmly. "That's all that matters, Sherlock, just you coming back."

"I can't ask you to wait all that time for me," he argued. "That's part of the reason I didn't tell you or John the plan. With me dead you'd move on, have a life. You'd have what you deserve." I smiled and moved forward, wrapping my arms around him.

"I'd wait an eternity for you, Sherlock," I said quietly nuzzling my cheek into his shirt. "I don't want anyone else."

"That's incredibly unrealistic," he noted.

"Well, I'll wait as long as it takes anyway," I amended.

"You're really not bothered by it?" he pulled back so he could look down at me. I looked back up at him, my chin resting against his chest.

"Not a bit," I assured him. He shifted forward and held me against him tightly.

"Why not?" he wondered as he leaned down and rested his chin on the top of my head.

"Because I love you, you idiot." He chuckled softly.

"I love you too, Reilen," he responded. "However irrational and useless that emotion may be."

"What did I just tell you?" I snapped teasingly. "It's a promise. You can make a simple promise, can't you?"

"I suppose I can," he allowed. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him quickly.

"Good. Now let's get to bed, shall we?" Sherlock nodded and changed into his pajamas. We climbed into bed and I curled up against him, feeling like everything in the world was back to normal.

"Why were you afraid to say it out loud?" I asked again. Sherlock sighed and his arms tightened slightly around me.

"I don't want to hurt you," he responded quietly. "I didn't want to say it and then have something happen that would cause you to break any further than you already had. You've only just been put back together."

"Well that's just silly," I scolded him. But I knew he had a point. After everything that Moriarty had done and put us through, I must have seemed incredibly fragile to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, Moriarty's dead, isn't he?" I asked after a minute.

"He blew out the back of his head," Sherlock answered. "Of course he's dead."

"So he's never coming after us again?" Sherlock sighed and stroked my hair gently.

"No," he agreed. "Never again." I felt like I could breathe for the first time in months.


	21. The Dilaudid Incident

Chapter 21: The Dilaudid Incident

Sherlock had been gone for nearly a year. He came back maybe once every couple of weeks but in-between his sporadic visits I didn't hear from him. Mycroft told me where he was _supposed_ to be but more often than not he ended up somewhere else.

* * *

I sat in Sherlock's chair fingering the vial of Dilaudid that he had given me on his last visit. That had been over two months ago. He gave me a new vial whenever he came home so that I would never run out, at least not until he came back. When he had given me the first vial he had been very clear on when and how I was supposed to use it.

 _"_ _You have to promise that you'll use this only if you_ _ **really**_ _need it," he said as he held out the vial to me._

 _"_ _I promise," I replied, reaching for it. He held it out of my reach._

 _"_ _I've left enough syringes to last you for at least three months should I be delayed in returning," he explained. "I've marked each one with the_ _ **exact**_ _ideal dosage for your body weight._ _ **Promise me**_ _that you won't go over that limit."_

 _"_ _Uh-huh," I agreed quickly but he held it even further out of my reach when I tried to grab it._

 _"_ _And for god's sake, don't let John or Mary find out about it!" I rolled my eyes._

 _"_ _I won't," I snapped. "Now give me the vial!" Sherlock placed it into my hand and closed my fingers around it._

 _"_ _Only when you_ _ **really**_ _need it," he repeated softly…_

"Well I really need it now," I muttered. John and Mary had spent the last few weeks at her place, Sherlock was still gone, and Mycroft wasn't giving me any information on where he was or when he was coming back. I was lonely. I needed to take my mind off of it. Carefully, I extracted the Dilaudid from the vial with a syringe, stopping when I reached the line Sherlock had marked. I winced at the pinch that came with inserting the needle into the vein at my elbow. The familiar burning settled into my shoulders before there seemed to be a 'pop' and everything relaxed.

"Oh thank god," I sighed as my head lolled back against the chair. My mind went comfortably numb and I drifted off into the fog.

 _I could hear Sherlock's violin music playing softly. A creak came from the stairwell and the music stopped…_

' _Moriarty!_ ' I panicked and scrambled out of the chair. The room spun and I tripped over the small coffee table. There was another creak from the stairs. I had to hide! The door to our room had a lock on it…but no…that's the first place he'd look for me. I couldn't get to John's room with him in the stairway. My only other choice was the bathroom. I stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom and locked myself inside. There were footsteps moving through the flat. I wedge myself in the gap between the sink and the toilet. As the footsteps drew closer I covered my mouth and held my breath. The footsteps moved past the bathroom, heading for the bedroom but they returned quickly. The doorknob rattled and it took all of my self-control not to start crying.

"Reilen?" That was Sherlock's voice. He had the door unlocked by the time I had gotten out of my hiding space.

"Sherlock!" I cried rushing over and throwing my arms around him.

"What're you doing?" he wondered.

"I thought—I thought you were Moriarty," I muttered. "I was dreaming and—"

"And you'd taken a dose of Dilaudid," Sherlock finished.

"Well...yeah," I mumbled. "That too."

"Did you really get that desperate?" He gave me a disapproving look that I found annoying considering the fact that he was an ex junkie.

"I didn't know you were coming home," I snapped. "Mycroft didn't say."

"I wasn't sure I would be able to make it so I asked him not to say anything," Sherlock said as he led me back into the living room. I flopped onto the sofa and smiled at him.

"Welcome home," I giggled.

"You knocked over the coffee table," he scolded as he righted said piece of furniture. "How many doses have you taken today?"

"Just the one," I answered truthfully.

"And this week?"

"Four."

"That's one per night!" He didn't look happy. "How long has this been going on?"

"About three months," I admitted. "It helps me sleep." Sherlock's frown deepened.

"Reilen, what did I tell you about—"

"I need it for the nightmares!" I cut in. "I can't sleep otherwise."

"They're that bad?" he asked. I nodded, shuddering at the memory of the dreams I had had when I hadn't taken any Dilaudid.

"How long will you be home this time?" I questioned to change the subject.

"About two weeks." I perked up at the idea of having him home for a whole two weeks. However, we would be confined to the flat since Sherlock couldn't go out as he was still "dead".

"Where's John?" Sherlock asked looking around the dark flat.

"At Mary's," I answered. "You honestly think I'd take a dose and sit in the middle of the living room if he was here?"

"How long has he been gone?" A look of concern flashed across his face or it could have been annoyance. Either way it was gone as soon as I noticed it.

"'Bout a month." I shrugged. Mary usually checked in with me about once or twice a day, John usually more so. They had dinner at the flat about twice a week and every so often I would go over to Mary's flat for dinner. But I liked the time alone. It meant I didn't have to try so hard to hide my Dilaudid use.

Sherlock sat down in his chair and looked over at me.

"You're not eating," he observed. "You've lost nearly five pounds since I was home last."

"Almost ten, actually," I corrected him. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and frowned.

"Nine and half exactly," he mused. "Why?"

"Not hungry." I shrugged. "Does Mrs. Hudson know you're here?"

"Of course not," Sherlock snapped. "I can't have her knowing I'm alive. She wouldn't be able to keep it a secret. Now, I think you ought to eat something." He headed into the kitchen and returned several minutes later with a sandwich and a glass of juice. Knowing that it would be useless to argue, I accepted the meal and ate every bite.

"Has Mycroft been keeping your account full?" Sherlock asked as I finished my food. He and Mycroft had an arrangement when it came to money. Mycroft usually kept _Sherlock's_ bank account full but since he was "dead" the money Mycroft normally gave to him was given to me. It allowed me to stay at Baker Street and also meant that I didn't have to go back to work. After everything that had happened I seriously doubted my ability to return to work like everything was fine and normal.

"Yes," I answered. "It's been really nice, not having to worry about money or anything. He takes care of the bills too."

"At least he's good for something," Sherlock said seeming annoyed with his brother for some reason. Although he was almost _always_ annoyed with Mycroft so it wasn't surprising.

"I feel sort of bad about it," I mumbled. "I mean, I'm just mooching off of him. I'm not _you_. I'm not related to him. There's no reason for him to take this much care of me."

"You're my girlfriend," Sherlock said sharply. "And I want to be sure you're taken care of while I'm away." I felt a surge of love for him and launched myself off the couch and into his lap.

"I love you," I sighed as I cuddled up to him. Sherlock put one arm around me and patted my head.

"I know," he responded with a chuckle. "I love you too."

* * *

Sherlock had left after his two weeks were up and I went back to missing him and waiting. I tried my hardest not to use any Dilaudid but I always ended up needing a dose. After Sherlock's departure I didn't get any news from Mycroft even though it was nearing the two month mark since Sherlock had last visited.

* * *

"Do you want to go out to eat tonight or get a takeaway?" John asked.

"I'm fine with either," Mary answered. I responded with a shrug. I didn't mind either way.

"I suppose a takeaway would be easier," John mused. My mobile rang and I snatched it off the coffee table. Mycroft's number glowed up at me.

"Mycroft," I said by way of greeting.

"I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you," he replied. "But I'll be at your flat in approximately two minutes. There is something we need to discuss." He hung up before I could ask him what the bloody hell he was on about.

"What's going on?" John wondered.

"Mycroft's coming over," I answered. "He said there was something we needed to discuss."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" John demanded.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I said. A moment later the front door opened and shut before the sound of footsteps came from the stairwell.

"Hi Mycroft!" I called just before he walked into the flat.

"Good evening Reilen," he responded in a tight voice. "Ah, John and Mary are here as well, that's—fortunate." His face was a mask of polite smiles but something felt off.

"So, what's going on?" I asked slowly. "Why are you here?"

"Reilen, you're going to want to sit down," he told me. I studied the way he was gripping the handle of his umbrella, the way he didn't relax, the way he had stopped smiling as soon as I had asked what was going on. I knew what this was about.

"It's Sherlock, isn't it?" I asked my voice coming out thin and quiet but surprisingly steady. John came to stand beside me and I felt his hand settle on the small of my back.

"Is he coming home for good?" John asked. "Is everything over now?"

"No, John," Mycroft responded though he never took his eyes off of me. "He's not coming home."

"Is he okay?" John asked. I saw the answer in Mycroft's eyes and I felt my body go cold. _Not again. This could_ _ **not**_ _be happening again._

"I'm afraid not." Mycroft gestured to Sherlock's chair. "You really should sit down, Reilen."

"He's dead," I choked out. "Isn't he? For real this time." John went still beside me and I heard Mary suck in a breath.

"I'm afraid so," Mycroft replied softly. "Of course, I will continue to provide you with funds and you can continue living in 221B as per my brother's wishes. You don't have to worry about money."

"I'm going to lie down," I forced out as I moved away from John.

"Reilen, wait," John called quietly. He sounded broken. I felt him reaching for me but I moved further out of his grasp.

"Goodbye Mycroft," I said as I walked past him. I walked down the hallway to my bedroom feeling like everything had floated away from me. There was nothing but an abyss and I was only moments away from falling into it.

* * *

"Reilen, stay with me!" John's face floated above me. There was a light overhead so bright it made my head hurt. John's voice seemed like it was coming from a long tunnel.

"John you need to let her go now," Mary's voice called worriedly. "They have to take her." John leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"You're going to be fine," he insisted. "Don't you _dare_ die on me." He vanished from my view and I felt my body racing along while orders were being called out all around me. I closed my eyes and sank back into the abyss.

 _I sat in my room staring at the vial of Dilaudid clutched in my hand. With Sherlock dead was there any real reason for me_ _ **not**_ _to take more than I should?_

 _'_ _ **If I die John will be devastated,**_ _' I reminded myself. '_ _ **It would destroy him.**_ _' But Sherlock was_ _ **gone**_ _. He was never coming back. I couldn't make myself keep going without him. My gaze strayed to Moriarty's initials. I wanted them gone._

 _Quickly, I filled a syringe with Dilaudid and injected just enough into my vein so that cutting into my skin wouldn't hurt so much. Without allowing any time to second guess myself I grabbed my pocketknife off of the bedside table and dug the blade into my wrist. Even with the Dilaudid in my system it still hurt and the sight of my blood flowing over my wrist made me dizzy._

 _"_ _Can't stop now," I muttered through gritted teeth. "Just get it over with." I kept digging and slicing until the pocketknife was slick with blood. I kept digging and slicing until I couldn't see the initials anymore. The pain lanced up my arm set everything on fire. I dropped the pocketknife to the floor and filled the syringe completely with Dilaudid before jabbing it into the vein at my elbow. The blood loss on top of the extreme dose of Dilaudid would fix my "problem". My eyes blinked shut and everything went black…_

I woke up to the beeping of machines and the _whoosh_ of a ventilator. A second later my mind registered the tube in my throat and I started to choke and thrash around.

"Rei don't struggle!" John's voice cried. "It's all right! Just calm down." I stilled and let out a pained gurgle as I tried to breathe past the tubes. John's face appeared above me. One of his hands held one of mine while the other stroked my hair, brushing it off of my forehead.

"Mary's gone to get the nurse," he told me. "We'll see about getting that tube out." John looked exhausted. Dark circles showed under his eyes which were bloodshot as if from a combination of crying and a lack of sleep. The sounds of several people hurrying down the hallway reached my ears and I tried to turn my head to see the door but the ventilation tubes prevented this. A moment later, Mary appeared beside John and Dr. O'Hare and a nurse appeared on my other side.

"I'm glad to see that you're awake," Dr. O'Hare said brightly. "And you seem ready to start breathing on your own! That's very good news. Martha, let's prepare Miss Turner for extubation, shall we?" She nodded and moved so that I could see her more clearly.

"I'm going to lower the level of oxygen that the machine is putting out," she informed me. "Over the next hour or so I'll keep lowering it to make sure you can really handle breathing on your own, okay?" I nodded slightly and she moved away to begin working on the machine.

"We'll give you some privacy," Dr. O'Hare said when she was done. "Martha will be back every fifteen minutes to lower the oxygen level."

"Thank you," John replied quietly. When they were gone he let out a heavy sigh and sank into the chair beside my bed.

"Do you have _any idea_ —" he began his voice rising slightly. "Do you even have a _clue_ as to what you put me through? What you put Mary and Mrs. Hudson through?"

"John," Mary chided him softly. "This can wait, can't it?" John huffed and crossed his arms, glaring at the wall.

* * *

Over the next hour John didn't say a word. He sat and stewed in his anger until Martha came in and announced that it was time to remove the tube. John helped me sit up and Martha made quick work of suctioning out the tube.

"All right, now as I pull it out I want you to cough as hard as you can for me," she instructed. I nodded and coughed and gagged as the tube was pulled from my throat. My throat felt raw and a tentative swallow proved painful. Martha noticed when I winced and gave me a sympathetic smile.

"Your throat will probably be sore for a while but it'll go away fairly quickly," she promised. "Now, your oxygen levels are still a little low so I'm going to hook up a nasal cannula just until your levels are back to normal." She hooked a thin tube around my ears and positioned the prongs in my nostrils. A moment later I felt oxygen begin to flow through them. Breathing through my nose made me a little dizzy but it was better than being on the ventilator.

"Let me know if you need anything," she said giving us all a kind smile.

"We will," John answered. "Thank you." As soon as the door to my room closed he rounded on me.

"What in the bloody hell were you thinking!?" he demanded. "Mrs. Hudson nearly had a heart attack when we took you from the flat! Molly's a wreck! You _parents_ are beside themselves!"

" _John_ ," Mary insisted. "I don't think now's the best time to do this."

"Well we're doing it!" John snapped at her. "Reilen, you _died_ again! Where in the hell did you even get Dilaudid!?"

"Sh—Sherlock," I rasped. John looked ready to explode.

" _Of course_!" he fumed. "Of course he'd be the one to let you stay hopped up on drugs! How long has this been going on!?"

"Since he left after his funeral," I muttered. John let out a disgusted snort and began pacing around the room.

"How could you do this!?" he cried. "Less than an ten minutes after Mycroft comes and tells us that Sherlock's dead you decide to join him!?" Tears spilled from my eyes and I stared down at the blanket.

"I'm sorry, John," I uttered in a tiny voice.

"Yeah," John seethed. "You're sorry that you're still here." I flinched at the anger in his voice. I had never thought that I would ever make John this angry at _me_. I'd only ever heard him use that tone with Sherlock and even that was reserved for serious incidents.

"I—I just couldn't bear it," I whimpered. "I couldn't go on without him. And—and thinking about the fact that _Moriarty's_ initials would always be there to remind me _why_ Sherlock was gone…it—it was just too much." I looked at my wrist and noticed for the first time that it was wrapped heavily with gauze.

"You were in a coma for almost a week!" John went on, his anger still not spent. "I thought I was going to have to sit here and watch you die." I looked up at him, his eyes bright with anger and unshed tears. I took several painful swallows before I spoke.

"I'm sorry, John," I said again. "I—I just—I just _need Sherlock_. I don't know how to exist without him anymore." A sob burst painfully out of my throat and I covered my face with my hands. John's arms encircled me and held me against his chest.

"Reilen," he murmured. "I know it seems—impossible. I know how much you're hurting. But we'll get through it, together." I clung to him and sobbed wishing with every fiber of my being that I had succeeded in joining Sherlock.

* * *

"I don't understand," Mum said flatly. She, Dad, and Carlisle stood in my hospital room. Mary had taken Octavia and Talon down to the cafeteria for a snack.

"I think it's pretty self-explanatory," I disagreed.

"How would you even know where to get that kind of drug?" Dad demanded getting the tone that Carlisle and I called "the voice of authority" the no nonsense tone of a father.

"From here," I answered. "I took Molly's ID badge and used it to get into where the Dilaudid was kept." John didn't even blink as I lied to my parents and brother. Luckily, none of them knew that Molly didn't have the clearance to get into the medication storage rooms.

"Molly allowed that!?" Mum cried, enraged at the idea that my friend would supply me with drugs.

"No." I shook my head. "Molly didn't know."

"Why would you take drugs like that?" Dad wanted to know. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since the day Sherlock—since the day he died," I replied my voice breaking on Sherlock's name. "Moriarty drugged me with it. I got hooked." A look of shock passed over my mother's face.

"Wait— _Moriarty_?" she gasped. "You—you were up on that roof? You were there?" I nodded.

"I've been using for a year," I explained. "I just—I couldn't take it anymore. I've been so—so alone without Sherlock." Mum looked like she was going to cry.

"You're coming home with us," Dad decided. "As soon as you're well enough to leave."

"No!" I argued. "I'm going back to Baker Street."

"You need to be with family," Dad went on. "We'll fix this—this mess."

"Now wait a minute," John piped up. "Reilen is an adult. You can't force her to come home with you."

"I'm her father," Dad barked. "It's my job to protect my daughter, even if it's from herself."

"Dad, why don't we talk about this outside for a minute," Carlisle suggested. "I think you need to calm down a bit." Begrudgingly, my parents left the room with my brother. I turned to John.

"Call Mycroft," I ordered. John whipped out his mobile and dialed Mycroft's number. He quickly filled the elder Holmes in on the situation.

"He's on his way," John said as he hung up. My parents and brother returned, my father looked like he had calmed down.

"We spoke with your doctor," Dad said. "He said you can't leave the hospital for a few more days. That'll give us time to arrange everything." I pressed my lips together to hold back the flow of angry words. Under no circumstances was I going back to my parents' house. I wanted to stay at Baker Street and that was exactly what I was going to do. The five of us fell into a tense silence.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Reilen, John," Mycroft said as he strode into my hospital room ten minutes later. "Reilen, I'm glad to see that you are doing well."

"Hi Mycroft," John and I greeted him. Mary turned to Octavia and Talon and gave them a brilliant smile.

"Girls! Why don't we go get another snack?" she suggested brightly. "Maybe we can explore a bit!" My sisters jumped up enthusiastically and followed her out of the room.

"You must be Reilen's mother, father, and elder brother," Mycroft said turning to the rest of my family. "I'm Mycroft Holmes; it's a pleasure to meet you." He shook hands with each of them, offering them a smile as false as the one I had seen Sherlock give Molly the first time I had meet him.

"What brings you here, Mr. Holmes?" Mum asked.

"I was informed that Reilen's condition had improved and I thought I should see how she was doing."

"Why would _you_ be informed?" Dad demanded. "You're not family."

"I'm sure you are aware of your daughter's relationship with my late younger brother," Mycroft answered his tone turning frosty. "Before his death, Sherlock requested that I provide for Reilen as I had previously provided for him."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Carlisle asked eyeing Mycroft with suspicion.

"I provided my brother with a monthly…allowance," Mycroft explained. "It is quite substantial and allowed him to afford the rent at Baker Street as well as all of his other needs. After his death I began to provide this money to Reilen so that she could continue living there without having to worry about funds."

"Well that's very kind of you but given the circumstances, we want to take our daughter _home_." Mum was clearly trying not to lose her patience.

"Baker Street _is_ my home!" I snapped. "I'm not going anywhere else!" Mycroft held up a hand and I fell silent.

"I realize that this is our first time meeting so please forgive my tone," Mycroft said sternly to my family. "You do not know who I am but I have files on each and every one of you, including your places of employment and with whom you choose to associate. I also have files on your younger daughters, their school, teachers, and friends. I can bring your lives crashing down around your ears with a single word. Trust me when I say that Reilen is better off staying at Baker Street than she would be in your home."

"Who the bloody hell _are_ you!?" Dad cried, outraged by the threat. "Some kind of mafia boss!?" Mycroft let out a humorless chuckle.

"I occupy a _minor_ position in the British government," he answered with a thin smile. "I can assure you that your daughter is being well cared for and that I will do everything in my power to keep her from harm." This was the most sentimental thing I had ever heard Mycroft say. I assumed it was because he felt he owed it to Sherlock to keep me alive. My father sputtered and struggled to find a response to that.

"All—All right!" he conceded at last. "She can stay at Baker Street!" Mycroft's smile widened.

"I'm so glad we could come to an agreement," he responded calmly.

* * *

"Just _what_ were you thinking?" Mycroft demanded after my family had left. "Did you honestly believe that overdosing would solve anything?" His composure had slipped shortly after my family had said their goodbyes and it was clear that my suicide attempt had only added to whatever else was stressing him out.

"I wasn't thinking," I pointed out. "Obviously."

"Did you think that my brother would magically appear to save you again?" I winced at the venom in his voice.

"No…" I mumbled. "No. I didn't expect to wake up at all." Mycroft took a deep breath and straightened his suit jacket.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade has already removed all the Dilaudid from Baker Street and without my brother to supply you with new vials you'll no longer have access to it." He was right about that. I had no idea where to get any kind of drug and I wasn't the kind of person who was too keen on figuring it out.

"Sounds about right," I agreed. "Anything else?"

"Dr. O'Hare wanted to keep you here to monitor you in case you made another suicide attempt but I persuaded him to let you go home tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" I blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"During your coma you were given the medication to help with the symptoms of Dilaudid withdrawal so that is no longer an issue and as for another suicide attempt…I have your word that you will _not_ do something like this again, correct?"

"Correct," I agreed quietly.

"Then it's settled. I'll arrange to have a car pick the three of you up tomorrow and return you to Baker Street."

"Thanks, Mycroft," John sighed. "You've been a big help, really." Mycroft rolled his eyes and started toward the door.

"Do try to keep out of trouble, Reilen dear," he called over his shoulder. "You're becoming almost as much of a handful as Sherlock was." He closed the door on his way out.

* * *

When I returned to the flat I expected Mrs. Hudson to be angry with me. After all, Molly still wasn't speaking to me. But she was ecstatic to have me home and insisted on cooking a big meal to welcome me back.


	22. Ghosts Aren't Real

Chapter 22: Ghosts Aren't Real

I stood in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. It had been weeks since I'd gotten out of the hospital but my face was still pale and thin. In fact, I was pretty thin in general. It didn't help that I was wearing one of Sherlock's dressing gowns which made me look like I was drowning in fabric. Sighing, I headed into the living room and dropped into Sherlock's chair.

"What should I do today?" I wondered out loud. I had an "experiment" simmering on the stove but it wouldn't be ready for several more hours. I'd taken over all of Sherlock's equipment when I had returned from the hospital. Mrs. Hudson complained that I was as bad as Sherlock had been as I had continued with his habit of keeping eyeballs and other random body parts in the refrigerator. I'd also developed the habit of doing all manner of things with said eyeballs.

Groaning with boredom, I grabbed the pistol that Sherlock had given me several years ago off of the coffee table and pointed it at the yellow smiley face spray painted on the wall over the sofa. I pulled the trigger a few times, glancing over afterwards to see that I had taken out the face's eyes and added another hole in the center for the nose.

"Rei, _what the bloody hell are you doing_!?" John cried as he came running up the stairs and into the living room. "I can hear that all the way down the street!"

"I'm bored," I complained.

"Bored?" John repeated in disbelief. I leapt up and began shooting repeatedly at the wall.

"So. Bloody. _Bored_!" I shouted over the sound of the gun going off. John stomped over to me and yanked the gun out of my hand.

"That's enough!" he shouted. I collapsed back onto Sherlock's chair and scowled at him.

" _Fine_ ," I grumbled. "I was almost out of bullets anyway."

"What has gotten into you?" he demanded. "You've been like this for weeks!"

"Nothing has 'gotten into me'," I scoffed. "I'm fine."

"You're acting like Sherlock!" John huffed. "Are you—are you wearing his dressing gown?" I nodded and pulled my feet up onto the chair.

"Any particular reason why?" he wanted to know.

"Why not?" I shrugged. "No one else is going to." John studied me and frowned.

"You're not taking care of yourself," he scolded me. "You're thinner than the last time I saw you. How much sleep are you getting?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Doctor," I answered snippily. He was right though. I had a habit of staying up for days on end until my body was too exhausted to keep going and I ate only enough to keep myself from passing out. Mrs. Hudson brought me food all the time but mostly it was left uneaten until she took it away.

"Mrs. Hudson's worried about you," John said. "And seeing you now, I have to say that I'm worried as well."

"Really John," I sighed as I stood up. "I'm fine." I waltzed into the kitchen to poke at the contents of the pot on the stove with a wooden spoon.

" _Reilen_ ," he snapped in exasperation. "Are Mary and I going to have to move in here?"

"Of course not," I answered. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"It doesn't seem like it." He fixed me with a hard stare. "Either you start taking better care of yourself or we're moving in."

" _Fine_." I slammed the wooden spoon down on the stove and stormed over to the refrigerator, yanking the door open and surveying the contents.

' _Three human tongues, one severed hand, four jars of eyeballs, and a bag of thumbs.'_ Nothing edible.

"I'll have to get a take-away," I commented as I shut the door.

"Unbelievable," John muttered shaking his head. "It's like you're possessed by his ghost."

"Ghosts aren't real John," I called over my shoulder as I headed back into the living room.

* * *

Months went by. Sherlock had been dead, officially now for me, for nearly a year. My wrist healed until there was no evidence of Moriarty's initials or the damage I had inflicted while trying to get rid of them. Mycroft had insisted that the wound be skin grafted so that I wouldn't even have the scar from my own damage to remind me that they had been there. I began to eat and sleep somewhat regularly, although I still went through phases where I was either up for days on end or had no energy whatsoever. I had settled into what I considered to be "normal". I did my experiments and occasionally solved cases for Lestrade. Sometimes I went out with Molly and once or twice she convinced me to go on a double date with her, Tom, and Wesley, a friend of Tom's. Wesley was quite keen to date me even though I had expressed multiple times in words as well as actions that I had no time for or interest in a relationship.

* * *

"Tonight's the night!" John beamed at me as he straightened his suit jacket. "I'm finally going to ask Mary to be my wife."

"Took you long enough," I replied with a smile. I handed him the ring box which he had been hiding at the flat.

"I know, I should have done this ages ago," he agreed as he slipped the box into his pocket.

"You're not going to shave that?" I questioned tapping my own upper lip with one finger. "Mrs. Hudson's right, it ages you." John sighed heavily, clearly annoyed that his new mustache was under scrutiny again.

"I'm just trying it out," he insisted. John and Mary hadn't been around much in recent months. They'd had their own lives to live and I had felt that asking them to visit would be an intrusion. John's lack of visitation had angered Mrs. Hudson and when he had stopped by earlier she was in quite a mood. They had come upstairs and John had scolded me for leaving the curtains closed and letting the flat stay so dark. I had allowed them to open up the curtains. John had asked why it was so dusty and I had replied that Sherlock never liked anyone dusting the flat.

John picked up an envelope from the table by his chair and frowned at it.

"What's _Anderson_ sending you now?" he asked scrunching up his face at the thought of the former Scotland Yard forensic scientist.

"Oh another one of those letters asking me to join his silly fan club," I answered dismissively. "He's convinced that I know what really happened and that Sherlock's not dead."

"Well you _do_ know what happened," John pointed out.

"Yes, but _he_ doesn't know that and Sherlock asked us to keep it a secret. It was important that no one know."

"Doesn't matter much now, does it?" John muttered as he dropped the letter back onto the table. We stood in silence for several minutes. John finally began to get ready again.

"I've missed you, you know," I said as I watched him finish getting ready. "And Mary."

"I know," John murmured. "I'm sorry. There's been a lot going on with work and everything. The longer it went on, the harder it was to make time."

"Don't worry about it," I assured him. "Just have a good time tonight." John smiled and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

"Wish me luck," he called as he walked out the door.

"Good luck!" I called back. "Let me know what she says!"

* * *

It had been hours since John had left but there had been no word from him on Mary's answer. I knew it would be 'yes' of course but I still wanted to hear it from John. It was getting late and all my experiments were either done or needed to simmer or chill overnight.

' _I was never this bored when Sherlock was alive,_ ' I thought moodily as I turned on the television. I let it play in the background while I sifted through a file Lestrade had given me the day before. I hadn't been in the mood to look at it then but since I had nothing better to do now there was no reason not to look it over now.

* * *

A scream cut through the quite of the flat causing me to jump out of Sherlock's chair and litter the floor with the contents of the casefile. I'd solved it quickly (the receptionist did it) and had nearly fallen asleep watching television.

"Mrs. Hudson!?" I shouted as I bolted down the stairs. A man was standing in the middle of the hallway between me and my landlady. A frying pan hung by her side but her arms were limp as though she had no will to fight. The tall, slender figure wore a black Belstaff, the collar popped. _Sherlock's coat_. I shook the thought from my head.

"Oh, Reilen, dear," Mrs. Hudson gasped. "I'm sorry, I—I hadn't meant to—" She looked like she was about to cry. My blood felt like ice. I had to be imagining things. I wanted to move forward to stop this man—this _ghost_ —this—this— _whatever the hell this was_ from harming Mrs. Hudson but I couldn't make myself move. The figure turned slightly, glancing at me over his shoulder. He drew in a breath before turning to face me.

 _Sherlock_. The name screamed through my mind, throwing open doors in my mind palace that had been locked for nearly a year. I couldn't breathe.

" _Sherlock_?" His name hissed out from between my clenched teeth. A smile flickered across his face.

"Hello, Reilen," he answered, his deep baritone reverberating around my already chaotic mind.

"How—?" I began but my mind chose that precise moment to shut down and the last thing I saw was the floor rushing up to meet me.

* * *

"She'll be fine," Sherlock's voice was saying as I came to. "It was just the shock. At least her reaction was better than John's."

"Didn't take it too well, did he?" Mrs. Hudson's voice noted. Sherlock let out a dry chuckle.

"He'll get over it." I opened my eyes and stared at the living room ceiling.

"Sherlock," I stated in a flat voice. The sound of Sherlock getting to his feet came from across the room. I sat up and saw him standing next to the coffee table clearly on his way over to me. When I sat up he stopped and watched me wearily. I noticed that he had a cut on his lower lip and there was evidence of a nosebleed.

"Reilen," he said slowly. "I know this is a shock and that I owe you an explanation."

"You think?" I scoffed. Sherlock almost flinched.

"Would you just let me explain before you decide to punch me?" he requested. I nodded and he perched on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

"First, let me start off by saying—that it was Mycroft's idea."

"Seriously?" I snapped. "You're blaming the fact that I thought that you died _again_ on your brother!?"

"In—in my defense it had to be done," he insisted somewhat nervously. "Every time I returned to London, every time I visited you it made you a target. It made it easier for Moriarty's network to get to me. So Mycroft arranged for all contact to be cut off and then after a sufficient amount time had passed he came here and informed you and John that I had died. To be honest I thought you and John would be a little more enthusiastic."

" _Enthusiastic_!?" I snarled. " _Enthusiastic_!? Sherlock I _killed myself_ over it!"

"You mean nearly," he corrected me.

"No!" I shouted. "I died! I _actually died_!" Sherlock's nervous smile faltered.

"I know," he murmured putting his hand over mine. "I know." I never thought that I would feel his hands on mine again. I shot across the small space between us and held him tightly.

"You're not dead," I said my voice hoarse with unshed tears. "You're not dead." Sherlock's arms slipped around me and held me to him.

"I'm not dead," he agreed.

"I'll leave you two alone," Mrs. Hudson called quietly before her footsteps disappeared downstairs. I continued to hold onto Sherlock, relishing the feeling of having him in my arms. My mobile started ringing and the two of us broke apart.

"That would John," Sherlock sighed as I picked it up off of the coffee table. He was right of course.

"Hello John," I said as I answered the call.

"Rei, is he there?" John demanded. "He is, isn't he?"

"Yes, Sherlock's here," I agreed. John snorted angrily.

"He just turned up at the restaurant," John ranted. "Acted like I should be _thrilled_ that he's not actually dead!"

"Well, you are—aren't you?" I asked as I sat back down on the couch. Sherlock moved to sit beside me.

"That's beside the point!" he snapped. "He can't just turn up after all this time, after he let us _grieve_ , and then act like everything's fine!"

"I agree that he handled it badly," I said slowly. "And that he never should have let us think he was dead. But—John—Sherlock's _back_."

"I know," he sighed. "And as soon as I'm not so angry I'll realize how happy that makes me but right now I don't even want to look at him."

"I noticed that you took some of that anger out on his face."

"Yeah, well, he deserved it. How did you take it?"

"I fainted," I admitted. "I was so shocked—I thought—I don't know what I thought."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," John murmured. "I should have been. I didn't even think about him showing up at the flat after Mary and I went home." I perked up at the mention of Mary.

"Oh!" I chirped. "What'd she say?" John let out an annoyed chuckle.

"Never got around to it," he huffed. "Sherlock ruined it—the whole thing. I've got to go, I need to sort all this out in my mind. I'll see you later, all right?"

"All right," I agreed. "'Night, John."

"Night." I hung up and turned to Sherlock who had been watching me through the entire conversation.

"He's pretty upset with you," I said. "And I can't blame him."

"Are you?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes and no," I responded carefully. "I'm furious that you did this to us _again_. But on the other hand, I'm thrilled that you're back."

"Which is more prevalent?" he wanted to know.

"Thrilled," I decided without having to think about it. I would have done anything to get Sherlock back and now that I had him I saw no point in wasting my energy on being angry.

"Good to know," he sighed. "I'd rather not be punched again." I sighed contentedly and leaned against him. I felt him flinch and tense up so I leaned away so that I could look up at him using the fact that I needed to tell him something as an excuse to sit up.

"You can't keep doing this to me, though," I said quietly. "I don't think I can handle going through this again."

"I don't anticipate having to do anything like that again," Sherlock replied. He shifted positions and let out a groan.

"How badly are you hurt?" I demanded. Sherlock chuckled and shrugged.

"A few cracked ribs and other bruising," he replied. "Nothing to worry about." I rolled my eyes.

"What did you do this time?" I asked.

"It was all part of dismantling Moriarty's network." He chuckled again. "And I suspect Mycroft was enjoying it a bit as well."

"Which means what, exactly?" I pressed.

"Getting chained up and beaten by some angry Serbians." I had a sneaking suspicion that there were people who wanted to do that to him even without the whole 'dismantling a secret criminal network' thing.

"Do you want an ice pack?" I asked. "Or some medicine?" Sherlock shook his head and got to his feet.

"All I need is rest," he replied. I nodded in agreement and the two of us headed into the bedroom.


	23. The Empty Hearse

Chapter 23: The Empty Hearse

I woke up late the next morning. I couldn't understand why I had slept in as I hadn't been one for sleeping in since Sherlock had died. What had caused me to get such a good night sleep?

' _Sherlock came back,_ ' I remembered. ' _I can sleep again._ ' Looking around, I found myself in an empty bed. At first, my mind insisted that last night had been a dream or some sort of hallucination and my stomach twisted with the familiar sense of loss and emptiness. My eyes filled with tears. Then I noticed how rumpled Sherlock's side of the bed was and how the scent of his cologne hung in the air where before it was all but gone. I jumped out of bed and rushed down the hallway, skidding into the kitchen and making Sherlock turn away from the stove. He was wearing a red dressing gown over his clothes which made me stop and blink since I had been used to him only wearing his blue or purple ones.

"That was quite the entrance," he noted.

"It was real," I responded in disbelief. "You're real."

"As far as I know, yes," he agreed eyeing me with a small level of concern. He probably thought I was losing my mind.

"Why weren't you in bed?" I demanded. "I woke up and you were gone."

"I've been awake for quite some time. I thought it best to let you sleep." I frowned. How long was 'quite some time'? Had he even slept at all last night? It certainly _looked_ like he had but I felt like he hadn't stayed in bed with me after I had fallen asleep. I couldn't explain why I felt that way but I was sure that I was right. I shooed him away from the stove where he was boiling some sort of foul smelling concoction and began making breakfast.

As soon as breakfast was done he went into the living room and began pinning up pictures, notes, paperwork, and maps onto the wall over the sofa and connecting them with stings.

"What're we doing today?" I asked taking in the large collection of papers and strings.

"Mycroft's coming over." Sherlock jumped off the sofa and began setting up a board game on the coffee table between his and John's chairs. At first I thought it was going to be chess but after he had set it up he shook his head and moved it before setting up an entirely different game.

"I found this on the mantel," he said when he when he was done. "Any particular reason why it was there?" He held up my fluorite.

"I put it there after…after I got out of hospital," I answered. "I just couldn't…looking at it made me too upset." Sherlock held it out to me and when I extended my hand he dropped it into my palm.

"No reason to be upset now, is there?" he questioned.

"Guess not." I gave him a small grin as I deposited it into the right front pocket of my jeans, exactly where it belonged.

* * *

My phone started going off with texts and social media posts shortly after that. # _SherlockLives #SherlockIsNotDead…_ It went on and on.

"What is that?" Sherlock demanded.

"Turn on the telly," I ordered. It was all over the news.

" _Hat_ Detective!?" Sherlock scoffed. "Why is it always the hat!?" All of England knew Sherlock was alive now. So much for it being a secret.

* * *

Mycroft arrived just after lunch. Somehow, he said, Sherlock being alive had been leaked to the press and of course they ran with it. Mycroft acted like he had no control over that which irritated me. How was it that he could do so much most of the time and other times he could do so little? He didn't even seem all that upset about it.

"Well it had to come out eventually," he snapped when Sherlock pointed this out. "Whether this is the way _I_ would have revealed it is irrelevant at this point." He refused to talk about it after that, changing the subject and giving us a look that was less of a _suggestion_ and more of an _order_ to do the same.

"What have you got for me?" he asked Sherlock. "Hello, Reilen." He had yet to greet me in anyway but he did tend to be less rude than his younger brother so I knew it would come eventually.

"Hi Mycroft," I answered. Sherlock gestured for his older brother to sit down, indicating that they were going to play the game he had set up. Mycroft looked it over and made a disgruntled noise in the back of throat.

"Really, Sherlock," he complained. "This is unbelievably juvenile."

"Afraid of losing?" Sherlock smirked. One of Mycroft's eyes twitched slightly either from the effort of keeping himself calm or from being unable to back down from Sherlock's challenge. Most likely it was a mixture of both.

" _Fine_ ," he huffed as he sat in John's chair. "Have you looked into _anything_ since we spoke last?" Clearly, the mess on the wall had something to do with a pervious conversation but as Sherlock had neglected to fill me in I had no idea what it was about.

They began to play the game Sherlock had chosen. Sherlock nodded to the collection on the wall. Mycroft looked over and rolled his eyes.

"What is _that_?" he demanded. Sherlock made his move and began giving a speech he had clearly come up with just to be dramatic and annoy Mycroft.

"London," he began. "It's like a great cesspool into which all kinds of criminals, agents, and drifters are irritably drained." Mycroft and I sighed and rolled our eyes. Here we go…

"Sometimes, it's not a question of 'who?', it's a question of 'who knows?'," Sherlock went on despite our responses. "If this man cancels his paper…I need to know." He pointed to a picture on the wall.

"If this woman leaves London without putting her dog into a kennel, I need to know." He pointed to another picture. There are certain people—they are markers. If they start to move, I'll know something's up—like rats deserting a sinking ship." He made his next move against Mycroft. The elder Holmes sighed impatiently.

"All very interesting, Sherlock, but the terror alert has been raised to Critical." Sherlock sat back, keeping his eyes locked on Mycroft.

"Boring," he said dismissively. "Your move." Mycroft glanced down at the game board but didn't take his turn.

"We have solid information," he insisted. "An attack _is_ coming."

"Solid information," Sherlock scoffed. "A secret terrorist organization's planning an attack—that's what secret terrorist organizations _do_ , isn't it? It's their version of golf."

"An agent gave his life to tell us that," Mycroft snapped.

"Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn't have done," Sherlock replied. "He was obviously just trying to show off." Mycroft tensed, clearly holding back a frustrated sigh.

"None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?" Mycroft questioned before finally making his move. "Your move." Sherlock glanced down briefly before speaking.

"No, Mycroft," Sherlock insisted. "But you have to trust me. I'll find the answer. It'll be an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad." I watched him move a piece on the game board without even looking at it.

"You move," he said. Mycroft glanced down at the board before looking back up at Sherlock.

"I've given the Prime Minister my personal assurance that you're on the case," he replied.

"I _am_ on the case," Sherlock pointed out. "We're _both_ on the case. Look at us right now." Mycroft finally took his turn. A loud buzz sounded and a red light flashed at him. I smirked and eyed the game of Operation. Mycroft should pay more attention to the position of the game pieces.

"Oh bugger!" Mycroft scowled at the game and angrily dropped the tiny tweezer onto board, replacing the piece he failed to remove.

"Oopsie!" Sherlock mocked. I looked down at the game board to see which piece Mycroft had failed to remove.

"Can't handle a broken heart," Sherlock noted. "How _very_ telling." Looking very smug he sat back into his chair and crossed his legs. I thought about reprimanding him but Mycroft beat me to it.

"Don't be smart," he snapped.

"That takes me back," Sherlock responded before taking on a higher voice, like that of a young child's. "Don't be smart, Sherlock. _I'm_ the smart one."

"I _am_ the smart one." Mycroft glowered at his younger brother. Sherlock looked over toward me. Even though he turned towards me his gaze was reflective, remembering something from when he had been younger.

"I used to think I was an idiot," he murmured. I wasn't sure if he was telling me or simply remembering.

" _Both_ of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock," Mycroft reminded him. "We had nothing to go on 'til we met other children." A small smile turned up one corner of Sherlock's mouth.

"Oh yes," he agreed. " _That_ was a mistake."

"Ghastly," Mycroft sighed. "What _were_ they thinking of?"

" _Probably_ something about trying to make friends," Sherlock pointed out.

"Socialization is _very_ important," I piped up. "Or so I've been told." My entire childhood had been about how I needed to socialize more. I had been painfully shy as a child and preferred the company of my own inner thoughts or that of my brother over other children. I eventually grew out of it but it took quite some time.

"Oh yes," Mycroft remembered. " _Friends_. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now." This comment was directed at Sherlock.

"And you don't?" Sherlock wondered, eyeing Mycroft closely. "Ever?"

"If _you_ seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what _real_ people are like?" Mycroft answered. "I'm living in a world of goldfish." I thought that assessment was a bit harsh. Sherlock steepled his fingers and continued to look at his brother.

"Yes, but I've been away for two years," he said.

"So?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, I don't know," Sherlock shrugged. "I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a…goldfish." I perked up at this. Mycroft never seemed to be in any sort of relationship but I'd always wondered if he didn't have someone—to talk to. Maybe not a girlfriend (or a boyfriend, either way). He never mentioned having either and Sherlock certainly had never said anything.

"Change the subject," Mycroft ordered looking appalled. "Now!" He stood and walked over to the fireplace. Clearly, this topic made him edgy.

"Rest assured, Mycroft," Sherlock responded. "Whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre."

"Ooh-hoo!" Mrs. Hudson's voice called from the doorway right before she came into the living room carrying a tray of tea and biscuits.

"Speaking of which…" Mycroft glanced over at Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock smiled and let out a low chuckle. Mrs. Hudson happily set the tray on the table by the windows where Sherlock and I kept our laptops.

"I can't believe it," she chirped looking at Sherlock with dewy eyes. "I just can't believe it! Him—sitting in his chair again! Oh isn't it wonderful, Mr. Holmes?" She turned to Mycroft.

"I can barely contain myself," Mycroft answered giving her a sarcastic smile.

"Oh he really _can_ , you know," Sherlock replied.

"He's secretly pleased to see you underneath all that…" she imitated the sour face that both of them had had moments before.

"Sorry—which one of us?" Mycroft asked.

" _Both_ of you." With a nod she went into the kitchen.

"Let's play something different," Sherlock decided. Mycroft let out an exasperated sigh.

"Why are we playing games?" he demanded.

"Well, London's terror alert _has_ been raised to Critical," Sherlock reasoned as he flailed his legs over the coffee table and stood up. "I'm just passing the time. Let's do deductions."

"Sherlock, maybe you should take this more seriously," I pointed out. Sherlock walked over to the table by the window and picked up a woolen bobble hat with earflaps and pompoms dangling from each flap.

"Client left this while I was out," Sherlock said to Mycroft.

"When?" I demanded. "When were you out? This _morning_?" Had he gone out while I was sleeping!? Had he told Mrs. Hudson that she could let clients into the flat!?

"What'd you reckon?" he went one, ignoring my outburst, and tossing the hat to Mycroft.

"I'm busy," Mycroft sighed as he caught it.

"Oh go on," Sherlock insisted. "It's been an _age_." Mycroft lifted the hat and sniffed it. His nose wrinkled with disgust.

"I always win," he pointed out.

"Which is why you can't resist," Sherlock retorted.

"I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well-travelled, anxious, sentimental, unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis…" He broke off from his rapid fire deductions when he noticed the smile on Sherlock's face.

"Damn," he snapped. He tossed the hat back to Sherlock.

"Isolated, too, don't you think?" Sherlock questioned.

"Why would he be isolated?" Mycroft replied.

" _He_?" Sherlock repeated.

"Obviously."

"Why? Size of that hat?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

' _No, because no woman would be caught_ _ **dead**_ _in that hat!_ ' I scoffed mentally.

"Don't be silly," Mycroft replied. "Some women have large heads too." I blinked and looked at Sherlock. He flinched slightly and I frowned at Mycroft. I had a feeling that comment was meant as an insult to Sherlock's intelligence.

"No," Mycroft went on. "He recently had his hair cut. You can see the little hairs adhering to the perspiration stains on the inside." Just like I thought, Mycroft was making a dig at Sherlock's intelligence. Sherlock pouted slightly and looked down at the hat.

"Some women have short hair, too," he muttered.

"Balance of probability," Mycroft replied. Sherlock looked back up, his pouting done with.

"Not that you've ever spoken to a woman with short hair," Sherlock sniped. "Or, you know, a _woman_."

"Stop it, Sherlock," I warned. "Mycroft, you behave as well." Sherlock waved a hand at me, telling me to hush.

"Stains show he's out of condition," Mycroft continued, ignoring my admonishment. "And he's sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four…"

"Five times, very neatly," Sherlock cut him off before throwing the hat back to Mycroft and continuing on rapidly. "The cost of the repairs exceeds the cost of the hat, so he's mawkishly attached to it, but it's more than that. One, perhaps two, patches indicate sentimentality, but five? Five's excessive behavior. Obsessive compulsive."

"Hardly," Mycroft scoffed. "Your client left it behind. What sort of obsessive compulsive would do that?" He threw the hat back to Sherlock who grabbed it from the air with an exasperated grimace.

"The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached," Mycroft continued. "He's worn it abroad—in Peru."

"Peru?" Sherlock repeated.

"This is a chullo," Mycroft replied. "The classic headgear of the Andes. It's made of alpaca."

"No." Sherlock smirked at Mycroft and shook his head slightly.

"No?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Icelandic sheep wool," Sherlock informed him. "Similar, but very distinctive _if_ you know what you're looking for. I've written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibers." Mrs. Hudson returned from the kitchen with a tea pot.

"I'm sure there's a crying need for _that_ ," she rolled her eyes as she set the tray pot on the table by the windows. I snorted and covered my mouth to hold in my laughter. Sherlock paused and glanced at the two of us before turning back to his brother. Mrs. Hudson smiled widely at me before going back into the kitchen.

"You said he was anxious," he reminded Mycroft.

"The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed," Mycroft pointed out. "Which shows he's a man of nervous disposition but…"

"But also a creature of habit," Sherlock spoke over him. "Because he hasn't chewed the bobble on the right."

"Precisely," Mycroft agreed. Sherlock lifted the hat to his nose, sniffed it, and lowered it with a grimace.

"Brief sniff of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath," he noted turning away from the hat. " _Brilliant_!" The last word was full of sarcasm and he rolled his eyes.

"Elementary," Mycroft responded.

"But you've missed the isolation," Sherlock scolded.

"I don't see it," Mycroft said.

"Plain as day," Sherlock taunted.

"Where?" Mycroft questioned.

"There for all to see," Sherlock continued.

"Tell me," Mycroft snapped.

"Plain as the nose on your…"  
" _Tell_ me," Mycroft demanded. Sherlock turned back to him and held up the hat.

"Well anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?"

"Not at all," Mycroft disagreed. "Maybe he just doesn't mind being different. He doesn't necessarily have to be isolated."

"Exactly," Sherlock agreed. He looked down at the hat again. Mycroft blinked several times looking confused. I looked between the two brothers, confused as well.

"I'm sorry?" Mycroft asked after a moment.

"He's different—so what?" Sherlock replied looking over at Mycroft. "Why would he mind? You're quite right." He perched the hat on top of his head and gave Mycroft a pointed look.

"Why would anyone mind?" he wondered. Mycroft opened his mouth but struggled to speak.

"I'm not _lonely_ , Sherlock," he said at last. Sherlock tilted his head down and looked closely at his brother. He stepped closer to Mycroft with an intense expression on his face.

"How would you know?" he questioned in a low voice. Taking off the hat, he turned away from us. Mrs. Hudson came to the kitchen doorway and smiled at all of us.

"Yes," Mycroft responded brusquely. "Back to work. If you don't mind. Good morning." He left looking a little dazed by the turn the conversation had taken. Sherlock winked at Mrs. Hudson who giggled happily. Taking a deep breath he turned back to the wall over the sofa.

"Right," he murmured. "Back to work."

* * *

For a while, I watched Sherlock work on the wall of information. His mobile continually went off with photos of his "markers" and he crossed them off of the wall each time.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said in a scolding tone coming into the flat.

"Mm?" Sherlock replied absently.

"Talk to John," she requested.

"I tried talking to him. He made his position quite clear."

"What did he say?" she wanted to know.

"Fuck off," Sherlock answered without stopping what he was doing.

"Oh dear!" she cried, turning away from us.

"Well, he didn't _say_ that," I reminded her. "He just took his anger out on Sherlock's face."

"You get this sorted out," she insisted to Sherlock. "You two shouldn't be fighting."

" _I'm_ not fighting," Sherlock snapped. "John is." She let out an annoyed huff and left.

"I can try talking to him," I offered. "If you like."

"It'll sort itself out," he replied. He went back to working and I watched him for a bit longer.

"How can I help?" I asked after a while. "What should I do?"

"Nothing," he replied, getting down from the sofa. "I'm done with this for now." He went into our room and returned several minutes later. He had taken off his dressing gown and combed his hair.

"I've got some clients lined up and then Lestrade has asked me to work a case for him," he informed me.

"All right," I said. "I'll get ready."

"I've asked Molly to help me today," he replied. This stopped me.

"Really?" I asked. "Why?"

"As a sort of a thank you, I suppose," he explained. "For helping me when I was gone."

"Molly knew…all this time?" I gaped at him. A mixture of shock and anger shot down my spine. She _knew_!? She knew all along and never told me!? He went to _Molly_ over _me_!?

"I'm going to go out then," I said tersely. "Before she gets here."

"Why?" He looked genuinely surprised at my response.

"Because she and I had a bit of a row the other day over—over a friend of Tom's. Just a difference of opinion." Because if I saw her right now I would say something I knew I would regret. Although my excuse was also true. She'd been upset that I refused to even _consider_ going out with Wesley and we'd gotten into a row over it.

"I see," he replied although I really wondered if he did, if Molly had told him that she had tried to set me up with Wesley. "Well, I expect we'll be out most of the day."

"I'll be back later," I said. "If you're not here then I'll see you when you come home." I went into our bedroom and changed out of my pajamas. When I was ready I returned to the living room.

"Be nice to her," I requested. "She's not John so she won't be much help in reigning in your attitude."

"My _attitude_?" he scoffed.

"And she's not me so she won't be much help with the cases, either."

"I'm well aware," he agreed. "Are you leaving now?"

"I'll be back later," I replied. "Please be nice to her." I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

"Love you," I said as I pulled away.

"And I you," he responded. I smiled and left the flat, deciding that I ought to pay John a visit and see if I couldn't get this whole mess straightened out. I hailed a cab and headed over to the surgery.

* * *

"Reilen!" Mary cried brightly. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, Sherlock's taken Molly out to solve cases so I thought I would come see John. Is he in?" Mary sucked in her breath through her teeth and looked over her shoulder toward John's office.

"He's having a bit of a day," she told me. "It's just been a string of patients with—well—it's been a long day. And then the last one, John _swore_ it was Sherlock putting on a disguise like he did last night."

"Oh right, what happened last night?" I asked. "Sherlock's lucky his nose wasn't broken."

"He showed up at the restaurant, I have no idea how he knew where we were."

"Mycroft." That one word answered so many things on so many occasions.

"Right, so he showed up and pretended to be a French waiter. Glasses, penciled on mustache, accent, all of it. I thought it was a joke a first and John was so busy trying to propose that he wasn't paying Sherlock any attention." I knew it was because over the last year John and I had both thought we had seen or heard Sherlock hundreds of times but it was never him. We had trained ourselves to _stop_ looking for him.

"And when he finally realized who the waiter actually was?"

"He was furious," Mary told me. "I don't think I've ever seen him look like that before. So angry and—and hurt."

"Why'd he punch him?"

"Sherlock teased him about his mustache and John lost it. I thought he was going to strangle Sherlock but we got him calmed down and then we were asked to leave the restaurant. We went somewhere else but when Sherlock was explaining how Mycroft and Molly knew he was alive John attacked him again and split his lip."

"And the bloody nose?"  
"That happened after we'd been kicked out of the second restaurant. We went to one last place and we were trying to get John to calm down, he was so worked up by this point. Sherlock tried to get John to admit that he'd missed him, missed all the things Sherlock does, the way he is and all that. John head-butted him."

"Did John ever get around to proposing?" I questioned as I digested this information. "After you got home?"

"I'll let him tell you about that," Mary answered with a smile.

"Mind if I go in?" I gestured toward John's office. "Maybe I can cheer him up."

"I'm sure he'd like that," she agreed. I headed back and knocked lightly on the door.

"Mary, please, if it's another patient…I need a moment," he called back. I opened the door and poked my head in.

"Just me," I assured him. His face brightened instantly and he smiled warmly. I noticed the lack of a mustache right away.

"Reilen! Come in! Come in! What're you doing here?"

"Sherlock took Molly out to solve cases with him for the day so I thought I'd come and visit with you. I see you shaved it off." I tapped my upper lip.

"Yeah, apparently _no one_ liked it…hang on, Sherlock took _Molly_ instead of you?" He frowned. "Why?" I sighed and sat down in the chair across from his desk.

"Something about saying thank you for helping him while he was—away." I shrugged. "Let him make her feel special for a day."

"Are you two fighting?" John frowned in concern. "I thought after the incident with Dilaudid you two had made up."

"We had," I agreed. "But then we got into a row over that friend of Tom's I told you about and now that Sherlock's told me that Molly knew he was alive _all along_ …I don't care if he hurts her feelings at this point."

"Yes you do," he replied.

"Fine," I huffed. "I do. I told him to be nice to her today. But that still doesn't change the fact that I'm mad at her."

"Well it's just for today, right?" He offered me a sympathetic smile.

"I know," I sighed. "So Mary told me to ask _you_ about how you proposed to her." John chuckled ruefully.

"Oh, that." He shook his head and chuckled again. "Well I never did get around to it last night so this morning when I was shaving she was teasing me about the fact that I was getting rid of my mustache because Sherlock didn't like it and asking if was going to see him again, acting like we were a couple." I bit back a smile, I knew how much John hated _that_.

"And?" I prompted.

"And I told her to shut up and she said 'or what?' and I said 'or I'll marry you'. That was it."

"That's—uh—quite the proposal, John," I replied, trying to keep from laughing.

"Well it worked, anyway," he said. "If _Sherlock_ hadn't buggered the whole thing up…"

"Are you still angry with him?" John sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"A bit," he admitted. "Mary's got me calmed down though."

"You should talk to him," I said. "You should make up. He needs you."

"He's got you, though. What's he really need me for?" I rolled my eyes at him.

"He'll always need you, John," I insisted. "You're his best friend. You're more sociable than both of us combined. He needs you to keep him in line. He needs you to help him deal with all the regular boring people." John laughed at that.

"Just think about it, would you?" I requested.

"I'll go over when I'm done here," he promised.

"Good." I smiled. "See you later then." I left the surgery, saying goodbye to Mary on my way out, and headed back to the flat.

* * *

Sherlock wasn't home when I returned to flat. With him out and John still at work I didn't have much to do. I read for a while, straightened up the kitchen, answered a few emails, and watched some television. When I became bored with all of that I worked on some small cases that Lestrade had dropped off while I was out. By the time I looked up from the files it was dark out.

' _John never came over,_ ' I realized. ' _Did he decide to meet Sherlock somewhere? Maybe he changed his mind._ ' The front door opened and footsteps moved up the stairs before Sherlock appeared in the doorway.

"Did you and John get something to eat?" I questioned noticing that he had a bag of chips in his hand.

"John?" He raised an eyebrow at me. "No. I haven't seen him since last night."

"Oh, he—he said he was going to come talk to you," I explained. "I just assumed you went to get dinner."

"Haven't seen him all day." He sat down in the doorway and began eating his chips. I walked over and sat down beside him.

"How'd it go?" I asked. "With Molly."

"Fine." He gave me a tight smile. "She was fine."

"She's not John," I sighed giving him a sympathetic smile. "I did try to warn you."

"She's not _you_ ," he countered. My mouth dropped open slightly before I grinned up at him.

"Glad you realized it," I teased. Reaching over, I grabbed a chip from the bag and popped it into my mouth. A slight smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

"I promise I'll only be taking you on cases from now on." He got to his feet.

"Molly can't keep filling in for John," I figured. "Tom wouldn't like it." He nodded. The front door opened and the sounds of Mary and Mrs. Hudson speaking filtered up the stairs. Mary sounded upset.

"Mary?" Sherlock asked as he and I met them on the landing. "What's wrong?" Mary pulled her mobile out of the pocket of her coat.

"Someone sent me this." She showed us her phone. "At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam, but it's not. It's a skip-code." Sherlock's eyebrows knitted together slightly. I couldn't blame his confusion. I would never have thought that Mary would know what a skip-code was. To be fair, most people wouldn't think that _I_ knew what one was either. I looked back at the message on her phone.

 _Save souls now!_

 _James or John Watson?_

"First word, then every third," Sherlock noted. "Save…John…Watson." Mary pulled up the next message.

 _Saint or Sinner?_

 _James or John?_

 _The more is Less?_

The unimportant words seemed to fade away before my eyes.

 **Saint**

 **James**

 **The Less**

"Now!" Sherlock barked. The bag of chips fell from his hands and scattered on the floor. He raced down the stairs with Mary and me following.

"Where are we going?" Mary asked worriedly.

"St. James the Less," Sherlock answered. "It's a church. Twenty minutes by car."

"Can we make it?" I questioned. Sherlock turned and grabbed me by the shoulders.

"Stay here," he commanded.

"Sherlock—" I began.

"John is in danger," he cut me off in a low voice. "I need you to stay here, where I know you're safe." Understanding his concern I nodded.

"Let me know when you've got him." He turned and pelted into the street with Mary on his heels.

* * *

Approximately twelve minutes after Sherlock and Mary had left my mobile rang displaying Sherlock's name.

"Is he all right?" I asked. Sherlock huffed into the speaker for a moment.

"Barely," he said at last. "He was in a bonfire—a—a Guy Fawkes thing. We only just got here in time. He'd been drugged. We're taking him to Barts to be sure he's okay. Smoke inhalation and all that."

"That's good," I agreed. "I'm so glad he's all right."

"I'll be home soon," Sherlock said.

"Okay. Give John my love."

"I will." He hung up without saying goodbye. No sooner had I set my mobile down then it started pinging with texts.

\- - Want to go out tomorrow? I could ask Molly and Tom along. We could go to that fondue place we went to last time. – Wes

Sighing with annoyance I typed back a curt reply.

\- - I have plans.

I gave no further explanation. Wesley wouldn't give up.

\- - What about this weekend?

I was ready to strangle him. He'd been at this for _months_.

\- - Wesley, I don't know how else to say this. I've tried being nice but apparently that's not getting through to you, so I'll be blunt. I have no interest in a relationship. Much less one with you. Now please leave me alone.

Thankfully, there was no reply. I got myself ready for bed and curled up under the covers.

When I woke up later that night I found Sherlock sleeping soundly beside me.

* * *

"Reilen, wake up." Sherlock shook me out of my sleep. "Reilen!"

"Wha—?" I mumbled. "Sherlock—what's the matter?"

"You need to get up," he said pulling me from the bed. "Get dressed. Now."

"What's wrong?" I demanded. " _Sherlock_!" He responded by throwing some clothes at me. I scrambled into my clothes as he paced back and forth across the room.

"What the hell is going on!?" I snapped as I yanked my jumper over my head. Sherlock turned to me and took a deep breath.

"My parents are on their way." With that he strode from the room.

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes showed up about an hour later. They seemed very nice and were quite excited to meet me. Sherlock, who had seemed nervous about introducing me before they arrived, became bored and annoyed with them soon after. While I made up a tea tray Sherlock listened to his parents telling him a story about how his father lost their lottery ticket down the back of the sofa. When I peeked in on them Sherlock looked like he was fighting nodding off.

"Here's some tea," I said as I carried the tray into the living room. Sherlock was standing on the sofa flicking the papers pinned to the wall.

"Thank you, Reilen dear." His mother smiled at me.

"So did you find it?" Sherlock demanded. "Your lottery ticket?"

"Well yes, thank goodness," she answered. "We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St. Paul's, the Tower…but they weren't letting anyone into Parliament." She leaned back and craned her neck to look up at him. Sherlock looked down at her with a frown on his face.

"Some big debate going on," she clarified. Sherlock looked over at me and shrugged. The door to the flat opened and Sherlock and I looked around in surprise.

"John!" he said clearly pleased that John had interrupted his parents' visit.

"Sorry—you're busy." John took a step back towards the door. Sherlock got off of the sofa and pulled his mother to her feet.

"Er, no-no-no, they were just leaving," Sherlock insisted

"No, oh, were we?" His mother looked up at him in surprise.

"Yes." Sherlock's father got to his feet as well.

"No," John insisted. "No, if you've got a case…"

"No, not a case, no-no-no," Sherlock replied before turning to his mother. "Yeah. Go."

"Yeah, well, we're here 'til Saturday, remember," she told him.

"Yes, great, wonderful," Sherlock said quickly as he herded them toward the door. "Just get out."

"Well, give us a ring," Mrs. Holmes insisted. I followed after them, wanting to say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Holmes before Sherlock kicked them out.

"Very nice, yes good. Get _out_." He bundled them onto the landing and started to close the door but Mrs. Holmes stuck out her heavy shoe and stopped the door. Sherlock pulled the door open again and looked down at her shoe in surprise.

"I can't tell you how happy we are, Sherlock," she said quietly. "All that time people thinking the worst of you." Sherlock glanced round at John. I looked over at him as well but he was looking out the window, deliberately ignoring what was happening.

"We're just _so_ pleased it's all over," she went on. Sherlock grimaced and tried to shut the door on his mother's foot again to make her remove it.

"Ring up more often, won't you?" Mr. Holmes requested.

"Mm-hm," Sherlock agreed hurriedly.

"She _worries_ ," his father added.

"Promise." Mrs. Holmes insisted. Sherlock glanced quickly back at John again and leaned closer to his mother.

"Promise," he said quietly. His mother smiled warmly and reached up to stroke his cheek.

"Oh for God…" I knew what he was about to do.

"Bye!" I called quietly just before he shoved the door closed. He let out a sigh before turning to John.

"Sorry about that," he apologized. John turned away from the window.

"No, it's fine," he replied. "Clients?" Sherlock hesitated briefly.

"Just my parents," he said quickly.

"You're parents?" John stared at him in disbelief.

"In town for a few days," Sherlock confirmed.

" _Your_ parents," John repeated.

"Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of " _Les Mis_ "," Sherlock responded. "Tried to talk _me_ into doing it."

"Those were your parents?" John sounded dumbfounded. He went to the window and stared down at the sidewalk.

"Yes." Sherlock rolled his eyes at me.

"They're very nice," I piped up.

"Well…" John chuckled. "That's not what I…" He trailed off and looked back a Sherlock before peering out the window again.

"What?" Sherlock demanded.

"I—I mean they're just so…" John looked at Sherlock again. Sherlock directed a hard look back at him and narrowed he eyes.

"Ordinary," John finished. He smiled but Sherlock tutted disparagingly.

"It's a cross I have to bear," Sherlock replied dryly. John chucked again and started across the room toward his chair. A thought seemed to occur to him and paused before turning to Sherlock.

"Did _they_ know too?" he demanded. I looked over at Sherlock and saw that he wasn't meeting John's eyes.

"Hm?"

"That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek," John snapped. Sherlock picked at something on his laptop but there was nothing there. An imaginary piece of lint.

"Maybe," he replied.

"Ah!" John smiled tightly. "So _that's_ why they weren't at the funeral." I hadn't even thought of that. I looked up at Sherlock with wide eyes. Sherlock looked between the two of us.

"Sorry," he snapped, getting defensive. "Sorry _again_."

"Mm," John huffed. Slowly, John moved towards the door. Sherlock and I watched him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sherlock lower his head.

"Sorry," he repeated in a quieter voice. I reached out and touched his hand letting him know that it was okay. Or that it _would_ be. John drew in a deep breath and both us looked at him. John met Sherlock's eyes for a moment before looking down. He let his breath out slowly.

"So you've shaved it off, then," Sherlock said. I noticed for the first time that John's mustache was gone.

"Yeah," John agreed. "Wasn't working for me." He started pacing slightly across the room.

"I'm glad." Sherlock smiled.

"You didn't like it?" John questioned. He was clearly tense now.

"No," Sherlock replied. "I prefer my doctors clean-shaven." I swallowed down a giggle. John looked around for a minute before sinking into his chair.

"That's not a sentence you hear every day." He settled into his chair and sighed. I sat down in Sherlock's chair as he had yet to do so. For the first time, I noticed the cuts on John's temple. We sat in silence for a minute.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked at last.

"Yeah, not bad," John answered. "Bit…smoked."

"Right," Sherlock agreed. I rolled my eyes at that. John looked hard at Sherlock.

"Last night—who did that?" he asked quietly. "And why did they target _me_?"

"I don't know." Sherlock swallowed hard and glanced over at the wall over the sofa.

"Is someone trying to get to you through me?" John demanded.

"Well, it's about time someone else took a turn," I quipped. Both John and Sherlock frowned at me. Blushing, I lowered my gaze to my lap.

"Sorry," I muttered. "Not funny." Sherlock smirked at me. I'm sure he was happy to be the one not getting scolded for once.

"Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?" John asked Sherlock. Sherlock sucked in a quick breath.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous." He walked towards his wall of information. I studied the pictures and other papers. I couldn't see anything in it either.

"Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant?" he mused. "That's what's strange."

"Give his life?" John repeated shaking his head in confusion.

"According to Mycroft," Sherlock replied dismissively as if Mycroft routinely lied about people dying to give him information. "There's an underground network planning an attack on London—that's all we know." John raised an eyebrow at me and I shrugged. I didn't know any more than Sherlock. Sherlock paused and then sucked in a breath. I looked over at the sound and saw his head turn quickly to wall of information. He gestured to it.

"These are my rats, John."

"Rats?" John was clearly still confused.

"My markers, agents, low-lifes," Sherlock listed quickly. "People who find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly recinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normally but the sixth…"

"I know him, don't I?" John pointed to a picture on the wall. I followed his gaze and saw a photograph of a man in a suit standing outside of the Palace of Westminster. He _did_ look familiar…

"Lord Moran, Peer of the Realm," Sherlock answered also pointing to the photograph. "Minister for Overseas Development Pillar of the Establishment." Ah. That explained it.

"Yes," John agreed. Sherlock turned back to us.

"He's been working for North Korea since 1996."

" _What_?" John and I scoffed.

"He's the big rat," Sherlock informed us. "Rat number one. He's just done something _very_ suspicious indeed." He didn't go into further detail.

"And?" I prompted. "That was…?" Sherlock spun around and went over to his laptop.

"Here," he said. "Look." He pulled up a video. John went and sat in the chair in front of it and I leaned in over his shoulder. The video showed Lord Moran getting into a train car but when the train reached the next station he had vanished.

"Yeah," John said when it had ended. "That's—odd."

"There's no where he could have got off?" I asked.

"Not according to the maps," Sherlock answered.

"Hmm," John and I mused. Sherlock put his fingers to his temple and began turning and moving restlessly.

"There's something, something, _something_ I'm missing," he insisted. "Something staring me in the face." He looked back at the wall of information. A muffled ping sounded and he pulled his phone from the pocket of his trousers.

"Any idea who they are, this underground network?" John asked as he scooted his chair closer to the table. "Intelligence must have a list of the most obvious ones." I watched Sherlock study his phone and then look back at the wall.

"Our rat's just come out of his den," he replied.

"Al Qaeda?" John went on, either ignoring Sherlock or else not hearing him. "The IRA have been getting restless again, maybe they're gonna make…"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes," Sherlock said in rapid succession each one getting progressively louder. " _YES_!" John and I both looked over at him in surprise.

"I've been an idiot," he continued. "A blind _idiot_!"

"What?" John sat back, astonished.

"Never thought you'd say that about _yourself_ ," I said. Sherlock began pacing quickly back and forth across the room, completely ignoring my comment.

"Oh, that's good," he said possibly just thinking out loud and not actually speaking to either of us. "That could be _brilliant_!"

"What're you on about" John questioned. Sherlock turned to pace back towards us and exhaled loudly.

"Mycroft's intelligence is not nebulous at all," he answered. "It's specific, _incredibly_ specific." I thought about what Sherlock had said about the case so far, about the video that Sherlock had just shown us.

"Oh my god," I realized. Sherlock nodded at my statement.

" _What_ do you mean?" John demanded, clearly frustrated that he didn't know what we were on about.

"It's not an underground network, John," Sherlock snapped. "It's an Underground network." He walked slowly towards the other side of the room again.

"Right," John agreed firmly. "What?" Sherlock came back over to us and pulled his laptop closer to the edge of the table.

"Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you right in the face." He replayed the clip of Lord Moran getting into the train car. "Look, seven carriages leave Westminster."

"Hm," John mumbled.

"And only _six_ carriages arrive at St. James's Park." He straightened up and he and I exchanged excited glances. _Now_ we were getting somewhere.

"Ah, but that's…I mean, it's impossible," John argued.

"Moran didn't disappear." Sherlock was looking at the wall of information again. "The entire Tube compartment did." He pointed back to the video.

"The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage," I reasoned.

"Detached it _where_?" John wanted to know sounding skeptical. "You said there was nothing between those stations."

"Not on the maps," Sherlock insisted rapidly. "But once you eliminate all the other factors, the only remaining _must_ be the truth. That carriage vanished so it must be somewhere."

"But _why_ though?" John asked gesturing to the laptop. "Why detach it in the first place?" Sherlock began pacing again as he worked through the question.

"It vanishes between St. James's Park and Westminster," he said. "Lord Moran vanishes. _You're_ kidnapped and nearly burnt to death at a fireworks party…" He stopped and froze.

"Sherlock?" I narrowed my eyes at his back. I knew that posture. He had realized something.

"What's the date, John, today's date?" he asked quietly turning back to us.

"Hmm?" John thought for a minute. "November… _my god_!" My eyes widened in understanding.

"Lord Moran, he's Peer of the Realm," Sherlock said, he was moving back toward the sofa again. "Normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism bill." John looked over at him clearly worried about what Sherlock had figured out.

"But he won't be there," Sherlock continued. "Not tonight." He turned back to us.

"Not the 5th of November."

"Remember, remember," John recited.

"Gunpowder, treason, and plot," Sherlock and I recited back.

"I need to contact someone," Sherlock said and shooed John out of the chair.

A few minutes later he had a video call going on with a heavyset man in a very familiar looking hat. He introduced himself as Howard. Sherlock wanted to know about places the Tube compartment could have gotten to. During the conversation Sherlock had rounded up maps and other papers on the Underground and spread them all over the table.

"There's nothing down there Mr. Holmes," Howard insisted. "I _told_ you. No sidings, not ghost stations."

"There has to be, check again." John and I were looking over a map.

"This _whole area_ is a big mess of old and new stuff," John pointed out. "Charing Cross is made up of bits of older stations like Trafalgar Square, Strand.

"No, it's none of those," I replied. "We've accounted for those." Sherlock was pouring over his own map.

"St. Margaret Street, Bridge Street," he listed off. "Sumatra Road, Parliament Street…"

"Hang on," Howard said suddenly and I looked up in time to see him remove the hat's left bobble from his mouth. "Hang on, Sumatra Road. You mentioned Sumatra Road Mr. Holmes." He began moving around in and out of the frame.

"There _is_ something, I knew it rang a bell!" He came back into the frame. "Yes, there _was_ a station down there."

"Well, why isn't on the maps?" John questioned.

"Because it was closed before it ever opened," Howard answered.

"What?" John scoffed.

"They built the platforms," he explained holding up a map. "Even the staircases but it all got tied up in legal disputes so they never built the station on the surface." John still looked confused but when I glanced up at Sherlock I saw the realization dawning on his face. Howard held the map closer to the screen so we could see it more clearly, pointing to spot where the abandoned Underground station was.

"It's right underneath the Palace of Westminster," Sherlock said.

"So what's down there?" John asked now looking more worried than confused. "A bomb?" Without a word, Sherlock began walking way. John and I scrambled to follow him.

* * *

By the time we reached the Tube station it was dark out. Sherlock led John and I through the station without pausing to consult any maps.

"So it's a bomb, then?" John asked. "The Tube carriage is carrying a bomb?"

"Must be," Sherlock agreed.

"Right," John sighed and fished his mobile out of his jacket pocket.

"What're you doing?" Sherlock demanded.

"Calling the police." That was pretty obvious.

"What?" Sherlock asked before barking. "No!"

"Sherlock, this isn't a game," John snapped. "They _need_ to evacuate Parliament."

"They'll get in the way," Sherlock retorted. "They always do. This is cleaner, more efficient." He turned to a maintenance hatch and popped the door open with a tool he'd hidden in his coat.

"And illegal," John noted.

"A bit," Sherlock agreed. He opened the door for us and John and I slipped into the tunnel ahead of him. All we had for light were our small flashlights and the occasional wall light. John pulled out his mobile again. I glanced at it and saw that there was no service. Sherlock was leading the way and when we slowed I saw him glance back at us.

"What are you doing?" he called back.

"Coming," John called back with a sigh as he pocketed his mobile. The tunnel was making me a little claustrophobic but soon we reached an open space. Immediately, I decided I would rather be in the tunnel. It opened onto a walkway that was very high up, something I was even less okay with. The walkway ended in a ladder that took us down to another walkway and some stairs and more ladders. Throughout all of this I was more concerned with not falling and breaking my neck than with where we were going. The next tunnel was a bit lager and opened into one of the abandoned stations. We reached the platform and looked up and down the tracks.

"I don't understand," Sherlock said.

"Well that's first," John replied.

"There's nowhere else it could be," Sherlock said, ignoring John's comment. Sherlock put his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes tightly, clearly going into his mind palace. I shut my own eyes and tried to think of any other place the compartment could have gone.

 _The bomb was in the carriage…I saw myself sitting in the compartment as the bomb went off, engulfing the car in flames…The flames swept down the tunnel where I was now standing at a ventilation shaft…The flames shot upwards and into Parliament…The building exploded and began to collapse…_

" _Oh_!" Sherlock and I cried in unison. We took off down the platform.

" _What_?" John barked as he followed us. Sherlock jumped down onto the tracks but John grabbed my arm and pulled me back before I could follow.

"Hang on," John said. "Sherlock?" Sherlock turned back, looking annoyed.

"What?" he asked.

"That's…isn't it live?" He looked down at the tracks. I hadn't even thought of that. I was sure that they were but I had been so absorbed in what I had realized that I wasn't even thinking about something silly like live rails. The bomb was more dangerous right now.

"Perfectly safe as long as we avoid touching the rails," Sherlock assured John before continuing down the tunnel.

"Of course, yeah, avoid the rails," John repeated. "Great." He and I jumped down and followed after Sherlock.

"This way," Sherlock called.

"You sure?" John wondered.

"Sure," Sherlock answered. To avoid the rails I had to walk behind the other two. I chose to follow behind John so that I could see Sherlock's profile. His jaw was set, he was worried. We rounded a bend and the missing train carriage came into view.

"Oh," John said. "Look at that."

"John?" Sherlock asked.

"Hmm?" John replied. Sherlock stopped and pointed his flashlight upwards and we all looked up. I squinted up at the ventilation shaft. Multiple gray squares showed in our lights ascending up the shaft.

"Demolition charges," John said. We focused on the carriage again. As we neared it John exhaled slowly and loudly. My own nerves were jangling knowing how close we were to live explosives. We reached the carriage and John exhaled again.

' _We're going to be fine,_ ' I insisted to myself. ' _We're going to be fine._ ' John and Sherlock checked around the sides and underneath the carriage. They found nothing. Popping open the door with his tool, Sherlock opened the back door of the carriage and led the way inside. We moved inside slowly, carefully. It was dark but other than that it _looked_ empty.

"It's empty," John said when he'd reached the other end of the carriage. "There's nothing." I was inclined to agree with him but then I saw it: wires running along the wall and into the seats.

"Isn't there?" Sherlock challenged. He knelt down slowly and lifted up the seat cushion, peering underneath. Sherlock looked back to at us.

" _This_ is the bomb," he told us.

"What?" John uttered in a soft voice. Sherlock lifted the cushion off completely and showed us the wires and charges underneath.

"It's not carrying explosives," he explained. "The _whole_ compartment is the bomb." He lifted off more seat cushions revealing more wires and more charges. John started pulling up more cushions while Sherlock looked around the carriage again. He moved down the compartment and tapped a floor panel with his foot. The panel rattled, showing that it was loose.

"We have to get out of here." My voice was high and tiny and barely audible. Sherlock knelt down and pried the floor panel up. Underneath sat an even more complex bomb—the _main_ bomb. John started taking deep breathes, obviously trying to keep calm. I, on the other hand, froze and stopped breathing altogether.

"We need bomb disposal," John said, rather calmly I thought. He really was good under pressure.

"There may not be time for that now," Sherlock responded in a low voice.

"So what do we do?" John asked. I let out a slow breath. It would be fine, Sherlock would know how to…

"I have no idea," Sherlock answered. I went from not breathing to shallow quiet breaths. At least I was managing to stay quiet while I hyperventilated.

"Well, think of something," John ordered.

"Why do you think I know what to do?" Sherlock countered sounding annoyed. His voice was back to sounding normal rather than low and worried.

"Because you're Sherlock Holmes," John growled. "You're as clever as it gets."

"Doesn't mean I know how to diffuse a _giant bomb_ ," he argued. "What about you?"

"I wasn't in _bomb disposal_ ," John retorted, his voice getting louder. "I'm a bloody _doctor_!"

"And a _soldier_ ," Sherlock sniped. "As you keep reminding us all!"

' _We don't have_ _ **time**_ _for this!_ ' I shouted in my mind but my voice caught in my throat.

"Can't…Can't we rip the timer off or something?" John suggested shakily.

"No, that would _set it off_ ," Sherlock scolded him.

"You see?" John demanded sounding close to tears. "You _know things_!" Sherlock sighed and turned away from us.

All at once, the lights in the compartment turned on. I looked around wildly, trying to figure out what was going on.

" _Oh_!" John groaned. I looked down at the bomb. The lights were on. The timer had lit up. _It was counting down._

"Uh…" Sherlock stammered as he moved frantically down the compartment.

" _My god_!" John cried out.

"Uh…" Sherlock said again. My hands flew to my mouth and pressed over it tightly, holding in the terrified scream that threatened to rip out of my throat.

" _Why didn't you call the police_!?" John hissed.

"Can you just…" Sherlock began.

"WHY DO YOU NEVER CALL THE POLICE!?" John shouted at him.

"Well, it's no use now," Sherlock pointed out. Two minutes and fifteen seconds left on the timer.

"So you _can't_ switch the bomb off?" John asked again, sounding frantic now. "You _can't_ switch the bomb off and you _didn't_ call the police!"

"Go, John." Sherlock pointed back the way we had come. "Go now. Take Reilen and run."

"Sherlock…no…" I began.

"There's no _point_ now, is there," John cut me off. "Because there's not enough time to get away. And if we don't do this, _other people will die_!" I wouldn't have left even if there _was_ time…not willingly anyway. _One minute and fifty-seven seconds_. A moment of tense silence passed between the three of us.

"Mind palace!" John said suddenly pointing at Sherlock.

"Hm?" Sherlock looked up distractedly.

"Use your mind palace!" John commanded in a hoarse voice.

"How will that help?" Sherlock demanded.

"You've salted away every fact under the sun!" John was starting to shout again.

"Oh, and you think I've got 'how to diffuse a bomb' tucked away in there somewhere!?" Sherlock cried.

"Yes!" Sherlock paused, thinking about it.

"Maybe," he conceded. His fingers went to his temples and his eyes screwed shut.

"You too," John commanded me.

"I haven't got it," I whispered. "I know I haven't. I'm not clever enough to think I would have ever needed it." I could be helping right now if I had. I could be _doing something_ other than standing here useless and afraid. Sherlock grunted and his head twitched as he scanned his mind palace.

" _Think_!" John insisted. "Think, please think." Sherlock continued to twitch, his eyes shut tighter.

" _Think_!" John shouted.

" _Mmm_ …" Sherlock groaned. The strain of looking though his mind palace with so little time and so much pressure seemed to be hurting him.

"I _can't_!" he shouted as his eyes flew open. He stumbled back a few steps, breathing heavily. He looked at us with wide eyes. I could see the tears forming. He really didn't know how to stop it.

"Oh, my god!" John cried out again, the despair evident in his voice. He turned away from us.

" _Sherlock_..." I whimpered. Tears slipped down my cheeks falling in a silent stream. Sherlock ripped off his scarf and ran his hand over his face, panting but clearly still trying to figure it out. He dropped to the floor and hovered over the bomb.

"This is it." John's voice was flat, defeated.

"Um—uh—" Sherlock frantically ran his hands over the bomb, into the floor, anywhere that might help him find a way to turn it off.

' _We're going to die._ ' The thought pounded through my head to the frantic beat of my heart. I would never get to say goodbye to my parents, to Carlisle, to Octavia and Talon. They would blame Sherlock for getting me killed. They would never know that he'd tried to stop the bomb going off. That he'd tried to get me and John out. I sank onto a seat and put my head in my hands.

"Oh my god," John sighed in defeat.

"Um—uh—turn that off," Sherlock muttered nervously. "Oh god! Uh—um—uh…"

"I'm sorry," he said softly. I lifted my head and saw him on his hands and knees, still hovering over the bomb. He looked from me to John and then back again. John seemed to need a minute to process what Sherlock had said.

"What?" he questioned.

"I can't…" Sherlock's voice broke, his eyes filled with tears. "I can't do it, John. I don't know how." He rose onto his knees.

"Forgive me," he pleaded.

" _What_!?" John hissed furiously. Sherlock put his hands together as if he were praying and bowed his head.

"Please, John—Rei—Reilen, forgive me." His voice broke on my name and I choked back a sob. "For all the hurt that I caused you."

"No, no, no." John shook his finger at Sherlock; his voice was raspy with emotion. "No, no, no, this is a trick."

"No." Sherlock shook his head.

"Another one of your _bloody tricks_ ," John insisted.

"No," Sherlock repeated.

"You're just trying to make me say something nice." A sad smile flickered across Sherlock's face and he chuckled softly.

"Not this time," he replied quietly.

"It's just to make you look good," John continued. "Even though you behaved like…" He stopped and grimaced. He was fighting back tears now. He turned away from us and breathed heavily for a moment. Sherlock moved away from the bomb and sat on the edge of the seat next to mine. I finally let out a sob and Sherlock grabbed onto one of my hands, holding it tightly. He'd never let it go now…My sob quieted to whimpers.

John stomped his foot furiously, making me flinch. I looked at him and saw the mix of emotions on his face. Pain…anger…despair.

" _I wanted you not to be dead_ ," he ground out in a low, savage voice.

"Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for," Sherlock responded dejectedly. John sighed angrily.

"If I hadn't come back you wouldn't be standing there…Reilen wouldn't be here…and…" He was crying now, like he had on the roof of Barts. "Reilen would have had a life—she'd have found someone…and you'd still have a future with Mary." I doubted that I would have ever moved on from Sherlock. He was everything to me. There was never going to be any moving on for me.

"Yeah," John snapped. "I know." Sherlock pressed his free fist to his mouth and then wiped at his eyes. John moved restlessly for a minute before turning back to us.

"Look, I find it difficult—" he told Sherlock in a raspy, tear filled voice. "I find it difficult, this sort of stuff.

"I know," Sherlock agreed sounding broken. John exhaled slowly.

"You were the best and the wisest man—" He drew in a shuddering breath. "That I have ever known." Sherlock looked up with a look of shock. That was clearly not what he had been expecting.

"Definitely the best," I agreed softly putting my other hand over top of his. "I couldn't have asked for anyone better." John exhaled slowly again.

"Yes, _of course_ I forgive you," he said to Sherlock. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The bomb was going to go off any second. I screwed my eyes shut and buried my face in Sherlock's coat. Clinging to him for the last time…

Sherlock's shoulders shook and he began to snicker.

' _Inappropriate reaction to stress,_ ' I reasoned. ' _John accepts it. I cling to Sherlock and Sherlock—Sherlock_ _ **starts laughing**_ _!?_ ' He was. He was laughing now. I sat up and my eyes shot to John. He was staring at Sherlock in utter disbelief but then he looked down. I followed his gaze. _The timer had stopped_. It oscillated between 1:28 and 1:29. I leapt to my feet, looking from the bomb to Sherlock.

"You…" John began.

"Oh, your _face_!" Sherlock laughed gleefully. I gaped at Sherlock.

"…utter…" John continued.

" _Your face_!" Sherlock couldn't get a hold of himself.

" _You_!" John couldn't seem to form a complete sentence.

"I totally had you," Sherlock said. He looked so pleased with himself.

" _You cock_!" John cried at last. "I _knew_ it! I _knew_ it! You…"

"Oh, those things you said," Sherlock giggled. "Such _sweet_ things. I never knew you cared. Both of you were so… _adorable_." The sound of static filled my head. I was going to kill him. I was going _kill him_.

"You know, I will kill you if you ever breathe _a word_ of this…" John seethed.

"Scouts honour," Sherlock chuckled.

"TO ANYONE!" John shouted. "YOU _KNEW_!" Sherlock knelt down beside the bomb.

"YOU KNEW HOW TO TURN IT OFF!" I was fully aware that I should be shouting too but I had gone completely still. The static roared in my head. I couldn't think past the anger, not even to yell at him.

"There's an _off switch_." Sherlock gestured to the switch and looked up at us like we were stupid for not thinking of that ourselves. John looked closer at the bomb.

"There's always an off switch," Sherlock explained. "Terrorists can get into _all sorts_ of problems unless there's an off switch."

"So why did you let me go through all that?" John hissed furiously.

"I didn't lie altogether," Sherlock insisted. "I've absolutely _no idea_ how to turn any of these silly little lights off." What the bloody hell was _wrong with him_!? There absolutely nothing funny about what he had just done!

Radio chatter echoed down the tunnel. I turned toward the rear door and saw beams from flashlights coming towards us.

"And you _did_ call the police," John snapped.

"Of course I called the police," Sherlock agreed.

"I'm definitely going to kill you." John sound less angry now and more exhausted.

"Oh, please," Sherlock scoffed. " _Killing me_. That's so two years ago." He gave us a devilish grin and turned away. John finally started to chuckle and Sherlock laughed again. But I couldn't join them. I was still trying to process my emotions. Swiping at my eyes, I stormed past Sherlock and down to the rear door.

"Reilen?" he called after me. I shoved the door open and dropped down onto the tracks, marching back the way we had come.

"Reilen!" His shout echoed around the tunnel. I kept going. John and Sherlock caught up with me as I was climbing back onto the station platform.

"Reilen, stop," Sherlock called. "Please. Please, will you stop?" He caught my arm but I wrenched out of his grip.

"How could you!?" I ground out. "How could you do that!? I thought we were going to _die_! My family—I would have never gotten to— _why would you do that_!?" Sherlock took a step back, staring at me with wide eyes.

"You've already scared me once this week," I went on, too furious to stop. "How many more times are we going to have something like this happen? How long until this bores you? _Hmm_?"

"Reilen, I'm sorry," he apologized. "I promise I was never going to let harm come to either of you." I believe that he was sorry. But that didn't excuse what he'd done.

"You did all of that just so John would forgive you!" I shouted. "Didn't you!?" It had to be about John. I'd already forgiven him but John had still been upset when he'd come over earlier. He'd wanted to be sure that John had really forgiven him, that he wasn't just saying it because Mary and I had insisted that they make up.

"I—may have, yes," Sherlock said slowly. _I knew it_!

"I'm going home," I hissed. "And I'm not speaking to you." I spun around and made my way back to 221 B by myself.

* * *

I woke up to the floorboards creaking softly. My face felt stiff from having cried myself to sleep. Now that all my feelings were spent I felt hollow and exhausted.

My side of the bed sank as Sherlock sat down on the edge. He let out a heavy sigh and began stroking my hair. He obviously thought I was still asleep as his movements were slow and careful.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I love you." I rolled over and looked up at him. He offered me a weak smile which I didn't return.

"Still not speaking to me?" he ventured. I regarded him silently for another minute before I sighed softly.

"You shouldn't have done that," I said. "That was awful."

"I know," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are," I agreed. "I'll forgive you by tomorrow."

"It already _is_ tomorrow."

"Later today then." I rolled my eyes. "C'mon, get in bed." With a nod he stood and began getting ready for bed. A small hiss of pain made me look up. He had his back to me and was changing out of his shirt. At first, I focused on the bruises running over his ribs but then my gaze traveled to his back.

"Oh my god!" I gasped sitting straight up. "Sherlock—your back!" Lash marks criss-crossed across his skin. I scrambled out of bed and rushed over to him.

"I'm fine," he insisted, pulling away from me. "Just some leftovers from my trip to Serbia."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I thought about the last few days. He had always been awake and dressed before me. He tensed up every time I touched him unexpectedly and I didn't think he had spent the whole night in bed with me since he'd been back.

"Nothing to worry about," he replied. He quickly pulled his cotton t-shirt down, covering the wounds.

"What happened to you?" I asked. "How long did they do this to you?" Sherlock sighed in exasperation.

"About a week. You mentioned something about _bed_." I furrowed my brow, thinking.

"Was Mycroft there the whole time?" He couldn't have been. He had a government to run.

"No, he came near the end." He threw back the covers and slipped into his side of the bed. "No more questions. It's late."

"Sherlock, _talk to me_ ," I begged. Sherlock rounded on me.

"And tell you, what, exactly?" he demanded. "Would you like me to recount the details on my capture and how they tried to torture information out of me? Would you like me to tell you that I was frightened or that I begged? You'll be disappointed. Neither are true."

"I only meant that—" I began.

"That what?" he cut in. "That we need to spend hours going on and on about how I feel and how it affected me? If I wanted to waste my time doing that I'd pay Ella a visit." Seeing that he was only going to keep on like this I resolved to visit Mycroft and get my answers from him.

"All right," I conceded. "We don't have to talk anymore. Let's go to bed." I reached over to the bedside table and clicked off the light.

* * *

The next morning I woke up early, hopefully a few hours ahead of Sherlock, and headed to the Diogense Club. Mycroft spent a lot of time there, I knew, so there was a very high chance that he would be there now. John had told me about the rules against speaking so when I approached the front desk I quickly signed that I wanted to see Mycroft Holmes and was shown to another room. I got several strange looks from some of the men. It _was_ a men's club after all. Only men would come up with a silly club where no one was allowed to speak out loud.

"Reilen, what brings you here so early in the morning?" Mycroft inquired when he entered the room. This was the one place we were allowed to speak out loud.

"What happened to Sherlock in Serbia?" I asked not even bothering with my usual 'hi Mycroft'. Mycroft blinked looking taken aback by my demanding tone as I usually didn't demand things from him.

"What's he told you?" he wanted to know.

"At first he just said he had some bruising, maybe some cracked ribs," I recounted. "He said it was nothing to worry about. He made it seem like you let it happen because you were enjoying watching him get beaten."

"I _did not_ —" he began.

"And he flinches whenever I touch him if he's not expecting it," I interrupted. "He won't stay in our room all night. I wake up every morning and he's already been up for hours."

"Well you know how Sherlock gets when he's—"

"And then _last night_ I saw his back," I cut him off again. "It's covered in lashes. He said he was held by the Serbians for a week before you showed up."

"I came for him as soon as I could," Mycroft insisted. "I _could not_ intervene without jeopardizing…Sherlock got himself out of it eventually."

"Yeah?" I snapped. "And he's just fine now, is he?"

"He was never one for talking about this sort of thing," Mycroft reminded me. I clenched my fists and leveled Mycroft with a hard stare.

"He made me talk about everything after—after what Moriarty did," I bit out. "He was there for me through all of it. But he _won't talk to me_! He won't let me help him!"

"All you can do is be there for him," Mycroft said. "Just do that, please Reilen. Don't leave him. You don't know what that would do to him." Now it was my turn to be taken aback.

"Why would I do that?" I questioned shaking my head, not understanding. "Why would I _ever_ do that?"

"He told me what happened last night." I bristled, scowling at him.

"I had every right to be furious with him," I argued. "What he did was so _beyond_ anything that is even remotely okay."

"And yet no actual harm came to you or John." Mycroft folded his hands and placed them on top of his desk.

"No, but I thought I was going to die! I was terrified! I'm allowed to be angry with him for that!"

"I would agree with you."

" _But_?" I prompted crossing my arms over my chest.

"But Sherlock was afraid you were going to leave him." The statement hung in the air and my mouth dropped open.

"How—why would he—what in the hell gave him _that_ idea?" I had never said or done anything that could be even _slightly_ construed as my planning to leave Sherlock.

"You left him in the train car after it was clear he had eliminated the threat of the bomb," Mycroft listed. "You told him you weren't speaking to him and left him behind to go home on your own. Given the level of your anger is it really so hard to imagine where he got the idea? You've never reacted like this to anything he'd done before. Not even when he led you to believe that he had died."

"John and Sherlock have rows like that all the time!" I cried defensively. "John bloodied up Sherlock's _face_ because he was so angry with him! How is that better than what I did!?"

"John is Sherlock's _friend_ ," Mycroft stated. "You're something much more to him. You're— _different_."

"Oh, what?" I scoffed. "So that means I can't ever get angry with him? We can't have rows? I have to treat him like he's made of glass just because he's messed up bad enough to actually make me furious?"

"You simply need to be more careful." Mycroft looked at me expectantly. What was he waiting for? For me to say I really would leave Sherlock if he made me angry enough? I wouldn't. Surely he knew that by now.

"I'm not going to leave him," I snapped. "I'm not going anywhere." Mycroft nodded.

"Thank you." He sounded like he meant it. "You ought to be getting back to Baker Street now. Sherlock will be a mess when he finds you gone." I didn't think he would be. Knowing him I'd come home to him carrying on as if I was there and not even noticing that I'd gone out. He did it all the time.

"Bye Mycroft," I said as I headed to the door.

"Good day, Reilen."

* * *

I was wrong. I walked into the flat to find Sherlock pacing around the room.

"Morning," I said stopping him in his tracks.

"Where were you?" he wanted to know. His voice was sharp but he didn't sound _angry_ just upset. Mycroft had been right, he was a mess.

"I went to see Mycroft," I answered. "I'm surprised you even knew I was gone." He took a deep breath and pulled back slightly.

"And what—what did you talk about?" If he meant it to come off as nonchalant he failed. It was strange seeing him look so vulnerable.

"You." I started across the room but he took a step back. I could see him closing himself off from me. I stopped, frowning slightly.

"Is this it then?" he asked folding his arms behind his back.

"What do you mean?" My frowned deepened. Sherlock gazed at me coolly, a look I had never seen him give me before.

"I expect you'll want some privacy while you pack." He enunciated the end of the word in a way that I had always found sexy but this time I flinched as if he had shouted.

"Why would I pack?" I questioned taking another step towards him despite my growing unease with the conversation.

"You're leaving." He said it like it was something we had planned for weeks. Like I was just going on holiday or something.

" _What_?" I scoffed. "What gave you that idea?"

"Why else would you sneak out early in the morning to pay my brother a visit?" he challenged. "Other than to tell him that you were leaving and to ask him to leave you alone?" I rolled my eyes. Like asking Mycroft not to monitor any of us would accomplish anything.

"I'm not leaving." I walked over and plopped myself in his chair. "Where's the paper?" Seeing it under the coffee table I snatched it up and flipped it open.

"You're not?" I looked up at the perplexed expression on Sherlock's face.

"Of course not," I replied. "Why would I?"

"But you went to see Mycroft," he reasoned.

"Yes, to ask him what happened in Serbia since you don't seem in the mood to share. He told me just enough to keep me from pursuing the matter before he scolded me."

"Scolded you?" Sherlock's brow furrowed.

"For getting angry with you last night. Apparently, you had some insane idea that I was mad enough to leave you. _Apparently_ , you still do."

"Weren't you?" He looked like he genuinely thought that I had been.

"No." I shook my head and smiled warmly at him. "If I wanted to leave you, Sherlock, I would have done it by now."

"I was sure you would," he mused. "I was sure I had gone too far this time." I chuckled and shook my head.

"That," I informed him. "Is because you're an idiot about some things. I'm not going anywhere, promise." Sherlock smiled slightly before wandering into the kitchen. I chuckled again and settled in to read the paper. He was such a drama queen. Hadn't he learned _anything_ about me by now?

* * *

Later that day John, Mary, and Lestrade came over to celebrate their engagement. Having heard about Sherlock stopping the bomb that nearly took out Parliament, the press was gathered in the street outside, waiting for him to make an appearance.

Currently, though, he was on the phone with Mycroft who was _begging_ him to come and take over seeing _Les_ _Misérables_ with their parents. I could hear one of the songs being sung in the background. Mycroft sounded positively, well… _miserable_. Quite fitting, I thought.

"Oh, I'm sorry brother, dear but you made a promise," Sherlock replied. " _Nothing_ I can do to help." Mycroft responded with more begging prompting Sherlock to hang up on him. He grinned widely at me and I grinned back.

"Not having fun?" I guessed.

"Not in the slightest," he agreed. "It's wonderful."

"Come on," John said coming into the room. "You'll have to go down, they want the story." Sherlock sighed and we headed into the living room.

"In a minute," he promised.

"Oh, I'm really pleased, Mary," Mrs. Hudson was saying when we walked in. "Have you set a date?"

"Well we thought May," Mary answered.

"Reilen's birthday's in May," Sherlock reminded her.

"On the _third_." I rolled my eyes. "There's plenty of month left for a wedding. Not that I would have a problem if you had it on the birthday, mind you."

"We thought maybe the second to last Sunday," John put in.

"See?" I turned to Sherlock. "Nowhere near my birthday." Sherlock handed me a glass of champagne which I accepted and sipped. Sherlock sat down beside me and poured himself a glass.

"A spring wedding would be lovely," Mrs. Hudson noted.

"Yeah," Mary agreed. "Well, once we've actually gotten engaged."

"Yeah," John muttered.

"We were interrupted last time." She looked pointedly at Sherlock.

"Yeah," John muttered again. Sherlock offered her a quick grin.

"Well, I can't wait," Lestrade said raising his champagne glass to the two of them.

"You will be there, Sherlock?" Mary questioned, again giving him a pointed look. Sherlock was not one for parties, he'd missed John's last birthday before the whole rooftop mess because of how much he hated parties and people in general.

"Weddings, not really my thing," Sherlock answered getting up and going to the window.

"We'll be there," I assured her. Mary smiled at me. The door opened and I glanced over to see Molly and Tom in the doorway.

"Hello everyone," Molly greeted us.

"Hello Molly," John said happily.

"I hope you don't mind but we brought a friend along," she replied.

' _Oh. No._ ' I looked over just as Wesley walked through the door.

"This is Wesley, one of Tom's mates," Molly introduced him. "Wesley, this is everyone."

"Hi," he greeted sounding slightly embarrassed, probably because Molly's introduction didn't actually _introduce_ anyone in the room. As soon as he looked at me, though, he smiled broadly. I frowned and shot a glare at Molly.

"Hi," Lestrade greeted him.

"It's really nice to meet you all," Wesley said. John turned to him and blinked in surprise.

"Wow!" he replied with a smile. "Yeah, hi, I'm John, good to meet you." He and Wesley shook hands.

" _Molly_!" I hissed at her. She turned more toward Tom and Wesley and pretended not to have heard me. Sherlock hadn't even acknowledged the entrance of the others. He turned away from the window and looked over at John.

"Ready?" he questioned.

"Ready." John agreed. Sherlock strode toward the door, still not acknowledging our new guests but then his eyes fell on Wesley. His eyes widened and his stopped short. Wesley also looked surprised to see Sherlock. Like Tom, Wesley shared many similarities with Sherlock. He was tall, with high cheek bones, light eyes, and dark hair although it was only a shade or two darker than Tom's, nowhere _near_ the shade of Sherlock's ebony curls. He even dressed similarly to Sherlock, wearing a dark gray belstaff and a scarf around his neck. However, Wesley was as dull as brick with the intelligence to match (I may have exaggerated that a bit but compared to Sherlock…yeah a brick'll do).

"Champagne?" Lestrade offered, breaking the awkward silence that was starting to creep in.

"Yes," Molly accepted. Sherlock glanced at me and then at John. John's smile confirmed that there were indeed similarities between Wesley and Sherlock. Sherlock shook Wesley's hand and walked out without a word. I followed after him quickly but John stopped me on the stairs.

"Maybe you'd better stay in there," he advised me. "You never did like being in the press."

"Well Moriarty's dead so I don't mind now." I made to move past him but he stopped me again.

"Molly obviously brought him over here to see you," he pointed out. "Go on; patch things up so you and Molly can stop fighting."

"Let's deal with this later, shall we?" Sherlock called impatiently from a few steps below us. "John's right, go back inside Reilen."

" _Fine_!" I grumbled. I stomped up the stairs and let myself back into the flat. The others were going on excitedly about the wedding. I went to stand by the widow and watched the crowd of reporters jostle about in the street below.

"So that's Sherlock Holmes," Wesley's voice chuckled. "He's just what I was expecting."

"And what was that?" I asked in a low voice.

"An arrogant sod with no social skills." Anger shot through me and it took me a minute to compose myself enough to speak.

"Why are you here, Wesley?" I demanded. "I thought I was pretty clear the other night."

"Does he know about us?" he asked, ignoring my question.

" _Us_?" I scoffed. "There was no _us_. Molly dragged me on a few double dates, that didn't mean we were a couple."

"I had every intention of us becoming one, though."

"Well _I_ didn't!" I hissed. "So why don't you just go home?" Wesley picked at some lint on the sleeve of his jumper.

"Don't think this means I've given up," he told me letting the lint drift to the floor. "Just because he's back don't mean I'm going to disappear. You'll have to choose one of us."

"I choose Sherlock," I snapped. "I'll _always_ choose Sherlock."

"We'll see." He smirked down at me.

"Get out," I growled. " _Now_." He chuckled and headed back to the main group. I looked out the window again, willing Sherlock and John to hurry back.


	24. Another Sociopath

Chapter 24: Another Sociopath

After everyone went home and the press had vanished I looked up from a book I was reading to find Sherlock putting his coat and scarf back on.

"Where are you going?" I questioned.

"To pay Anderson a visit," he answered. I closed my book and got up.

"Want some company?" I offered. Sherlock shook his head and turned up the collar of his coat.

"No need to drag you over there," he replied. "Anderson's gone a bit…" He wiggled his fingers by the side of his head. Like I didn't already know _that_.

"I won't be long." I nodded and he headed out. I went back to reading my book.

* * *

A few hours later, while I was cleaning up the kitchen from the aftermath of our little party, I heard the door open.

"Is that you Sherlock?" I called. "Anderson must have had a lot of questions." It had been late afternoon when Sherlock had left but it was getting dark now. When he didn't answer I dropped the plate I was washing back into the sink and walked into the living room. Sherlock wasn't the one standing by the door.

" _Wesley_ ," I snarled. "What the hell are you doing here!?" He staggered a few steps towards me.

"You should choose me," he slurred. "I'm nicer than that—that _smart-arse_." I stormed over and pushed him toward the door.

"Go home," I ordered. "You're drunk." He grabbed my shoulder and leaned heavily on me, making me stumble back a little.

"I was always nice to you," he reminded me.

"You're not being very nice now," I snapped. "Now shove off." He leaned in like he was going to kiss me causing me to pull back. Suddenly, he started laughing.

"Would it be easier, if I were drunk?" His eyes flashed like two pieces of ice. "Yeah, it would, wouldn't it? You could get away with thinking that I wouldn't remember showing up here. You'd never have to tell _Sherlock_ that I was even here." I shoved at him but he grabbed my arms.

"Get out of here!" I snarled as I grappled with him.

"Not a chance," he sneered. "I'm not gonna let you blow me off anymore."

" _Wesley_ —" His lips smashed against mine. He wrestled me backwards and shoved me down onto a waiting piece of furniture.

' _Sherlock's chair._ ' One of his hands gripped my hair, yanking on it and eliciting a muffled yelp of pain. I shoved uselessly at him, whimpering as tears slid down my cheeks. I could feel myself shrinking into my mind palace to disassociate from what was happening. I couldn't be aware of what was happening anymore. I couldn't be aware if he was going to…

Wesley was yanked off of me and thrown backwards against the wall. My eyes cleared in time to see Sherlock punch Wesley several times in the face until he slumped to the floor only half conscious. I curled into the chair and Sherlock spun around at the sound of my movements. He cleared the space between us in seconds, touching my face and tilting my head this way and that.

"Are you all right?" he asked looking me over.

"Fine," I muttered drawing my knees up to my chin. Sherlock pulled out his mobile and hit a button before putting it to his ear.

"John," he said after a minute. "Sorry to disturb your evening but I need you at Baker Street." He paused to listen to John.

"Reilen's been attacked." He nodded once and hung up. He took off his coat and tossed it over John's chair. When he turned back to me I looked up at him apprehensively.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm _sorry_." Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"What for?" I had no doubt that he really had no idea why I was apologizing.

"For—for— _this_." I gestured to Wesley. "He just showed up. I thought he was drunk but—but he wasn't. I told him to leave—I tried to make him go…" Sherlock crouched down in front of me and took my hand.

" _Don't_ ," he said in a low voice. "Don't." Wesley groaned and shifted into a more upright position. I cringed and tightened my grip on Sherlock's hand. Sherlock looked over his shoulder at the other man.

"What to do with you," he mused. Wiping blood from him face, Wesley scrambled to his feet.

"I'm going to call the police!" he cried out in a near whine. "I'll have you arrested for this! This is assault, that's what it is!"

"Go ahead," Sherlock invited. "I'd love to see how keen Lestrade is to arrest me when he hears what you did to Reilen."

"She hasn't got a mark on her!" Wesley lost the whine and his voice came out as a sneer. "There's no proof I did anything. It's your word against mine!"

"Oh, I can guarantee that he'll take my word over yours." Sherlock's voice had taken on a dark, dangerous tone. He rolled my one of my sleeves to show off the newly forming bruise on my upper arm.

"What was that you were saying about there not being any marks?"

"You really think she didn't want it?" Wesley scoffed giving me a cold glance. "Molly set us up while you were playing dead. We went on _dates_! Just check her texts! She was texting me on the _same day_ that the news announced that you weren't dead!" Sherlock marched over and hauled him to his feet. Shoving him into the chair we used for clients, Sherlock produced a pair of handcuffs from the underside of the coffee table by his chair and cuffed Wesley's arms around the back of the chair.

"You think this scares me?" Wesley demanded. "You're not nearly as scary as they make you out to be." While he kept on about how he wasn't afraid, Sherlock left the room, returning with a piece of duct tape. He slammed it over Wesley's mouth causing Wesley to shout it pain. He pulled the pistol he had given me out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and leveled it at Wesley's chest.

"Reilen, go sit over there please." He gestured to the sofa. Without a word I did as he instructed.

"You don't think I'm frightening?" Sherlock questioned Wesley in a quieter voice, his voice somehow seeming more dangerous now than before. "How about now? Have you changed your mind now that I've got a gun pointed at you?" Wesley responded with a defiant glare.

Footsteps on the stairs made Sherlock glance over. John walked into the flat looking concerned and confused.

"What the hell is happening?" John asked breathlessly. "What've you done to Wesley?"

"He attacked Reilen," Sherlock explained still pointing the gun at Wesley's chest.

" _Wesley_ did?" John shook his head in disbelief. "But why would he do that?"

"I suspect it was because Reilen did not return his affections." John's eyes went wide. Clearly he had worked out what Wesley had planned on doing.

"My god, Rei, are you all right?" He crossed the room in three strides and sat down beside me, wrapping an arm protectively around my shoulders. I sniffled and gave him a tiny nod. John noticed the bruise on my right arm and he leaned over and rolled my left sleeve to reveal an identical bruise on my left arm.

" _Jesus_ , what'd he do to you?" I put my head in my hands and began to cry.

"I'm sorry!" I whimpered. "It's all my fault!" John hugged me to him.

"No, no," he murmured gently. "Don't say stuff like that." I lowered my hands and leaned against him. Sherlock turned to us. He had his mobile to his ear again.

"Downstairs," he commanded. "Take her downstairs and look after her." John helped me up and ushered me toward the door.

"You'll be down soon?" he asked Sherlock.

"I expect so," Sherlock answered. "Now go." He and John both looked back at Wesley for a long moment. John shook his head in disgust and came back to me.

"Let's go downstairs," he said quietly.

"Lestrade," I heard Sherlock say as we left. "We've had a break-in at Baker Street." Mrs. Hudson met us at the bottom of the stairs.

"What's going on up there?" she wondered. "Has something happened?"

"Tom's friend Wesley attacked Rei," John answered. "Can I take her into your flat for a bit?"

"Of course!" Mrs. Hudson gestured for us to go ahead of her. "Are you all right, love?"

"I'm fine," I responded automatically. "Just a couple of bruises."

"I don't understand," she said when we were in her kitchen. "When he came to the door to ask if she was in he seemed nice, a little nervous, perhaps. And when we met him earlier, he was nothing but pleasant."

"Well, you can never really know with some people," John pointed out. A shout came from outside followed by a loud crash.

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson cried. "Not my bins again!" She hurried over to the window.

"John!" Sherlock called as his footsteps thundered down the stairs. "Give me a hand." John was out of his seat and down the hall before Mrs. Hudson could even turn around.

"Oh dear," she sighed. "I'm going to need new bins, aren't I?" I gave her a weak smile.

* * *

Lestrade showed up about ten minutes later with an ambulance. I wasn't sure how many times John and Sherlock had thrown Wesley out of the second story window because I'd stopped counting after five. Lestrade came in to make sure I was okay before leaving with the ambulance.

"Rei, what happened?" John asked when he and Sherlock came back inside. "With Wesley?"

"I'm going upstairs," I responded before slipping past him and heading out of the flat.

"Rei!" he called as he and Sherlock followed me. They pursued me up the stairs and back into the living room of our flat.

"Here," I said flatly tossing my mobile at Sherlock. "You'll want to have a look at that I suppose."

"Why?" Sherlock questioned raising an eyebrow at me.

"To look through the texts Wesley sent me. He didn't lie about that, he texted me _a lot_ and he _did_ text me the night John was kidnapped."

"And what did you say?" Sherlock still hadn't unlocked my phone screen.

"I told him to leave me alone."

"Then I don't see any reason why I need to bore myself by going through them." He tossed my mobile onto the coffee table.

"I don't understand why he couldn't just take no for an answer," John said shaking his head. "I mean, if you kept rejecting him why did he keep coming around?"

"Molly was probably trying to play match maker," Sherlock answered. "She most likely insisted to Reilen that she keep coming out on these "dates" in an attempt to help her get over my being gone. In all likelihood she told Wesley that Reilen was just having a hard time with moving on and that if he kept pursuing her she would give him a chance."

"And when you came back he snapped," John finished.

"Oh I think he would have snapped even if I hadn't," Sherlock countered. "Men like that don't take rejection very well."

"What'd you mean?" John asked. "Men like that? Like what?"

"Like Wesley," I filled him in. "Like Moriarty."

"Wesley's not like Moriarty, surely!" John argued. Sherlock scoffed now.

"You don't think so?" he questioned. "'If you don't choose me I'll hurt you, I'll ruin you, I'll make the people you love hate you'. Sound familiar?" John sighed heavily.

"My god," he muttered.

"I'm going to bed," I announced, ready to be done with this conversation. "I'm sure Mary's worried, tell her I'm fine. Everything's fine. 'Night John."

"I will. 'Night Rei." I headed into the bedroom and changed into my pajamas.

A few minutes later Sherlock came in.

"He's undone it all, hasn't he?" he asked as I climbed into bed. "Everything that we had fixed after we got you back." I shook my head and leaned back against the headboard.

"I'm fine." I knew he didn't believe me. _I_ didn't believe me. Sherlock shook his head.

"It's not your fault," he told me. "The blame falls entirely on him. You couldn't have known that he would do something like this."

"But I should have!" I protested. "After Moriarty—I should know when I'm around a sociopath."

"You're forgetting about me," Sherlock replied. I rolled my eyes.

"I'm not. You're not like that. You're not—you wouldn't hurt me." Sherlock offered me a small smile.

"No," he agreed. "I'll just make you think I've died twice and put you in a train car with a bomb that you think is about to explode." A wide smile spread slowly across his face and we laughed.

"See?" I giggled. "You're already _way_ better than the other two!" When our laughter faded Sherlock looked down at me with a serious expression.

"Really though, you don't have to say you're fine if you're not." I was better than I had been after I had come back from being with Moriarty, I knew that. But I also knew that I wasn't "fine" I wasn't even "okay". I just wasn't as bad off as before.

"I'm not," I said quietly. "I'm not okay." The tears that I had been holding in since Sherlock had pulled Wesley off of me finally fell from my eyes. Sherlock came around to his side of the bed and sat down beside me. Without a word he pulled me into his arms and settled my head on his chest.

"You will be," he whispered. "I promise."


	25. The Sign of Three Part 1

**Author's Note: Hi everyone! I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update! Between my sister having a baby, the holidays, and trying to plan my wedding, and work I've been a bit swamped but I've got several chapters to post and I'm working on the next set as well so hopefully that makes up for it! Thank you all SO MUCH for the wonderful reviews! I was actually really nervous about posting this but you've all been so kind! Just...thank you! This story means a lot to me, it's the longest, most involved, and most intense fanfiction I've ever written and knowing that you all like it...it makes me want to keep writing! I hope you continue to enjoy the story! ^.^  
**

Chapter 25: The Sign of Three Part 1

I spent months helping John and Mary with wedding planning when I wasn't working cases. Even Sherlock helped. Now it was the day before the wedding and the one thing Sherlock _hadn't_ done was write his Best Man speech.

"What are you doing?" I demanded as I watched Sherlock type out a text. We were sitting at the table by the widows. I was typing out an email to Lestrade about a case he had asked Sherlock and me to help out with.

"Texting. Don't ask stupid questions." I grabbed a pen off the table and chucked it at him. It bounced off his shoulder but he ignored it.

"Stop texting and do your Best Man speech!" I scolded. "I've been on you about this for months. The wedding is _tomorrow_! You have to get it done!"

"It'll get done," he answered.

"You keep saying that and yet here we are," I pointed out.

"Reilen, please stop talking," he snapped. "I'm trying to think!" He put his fingers to his temples and stayed that way.

About fifteen minutes later footsteps pounded up the stairs and Lestrade burst into the flat.

"What's going on?" he asked breathlessly looking around in concern.

"What're you doing here?" I asked. "Sherlock, what's he doing here?" Sherlock stared down at his laptop, keeping his fingers pressed to his temples.

"This is hard," he responded which was not an answer to either of the questions he had been asked.

"What?" Lestrade looked around again, obviously looking for any signs that something was really wrong in the flat. He looked at me but I shook my head. Everything was fine.

" _Really_ hard," Sherlock replied. "Hardest thing I've ever had to do." Lestrade and I stared at him. What was he on about now? He grabbed a book from beside his laptop and held it up.

"Do you know any funny stories about John?" Sherlock asked. I stood up so that I could see the title of the book. _How to Write an Unforgettable Best Man Speech_.

" _Are you_ _ **serious**_!?" I hissed at him. The sounds of sirens wailing and tires screeching came from the street.

" _What_!?" Lestrade demanded. Sherlock put the book down and sighed.

"I need anecdotes," he explained before squinting at Lestrade. "Didn't go to any trouble, did you?" Lestrade started breathing heavily; clearly Sherlock had crossed a line. The sound of a helicopter added to the noise outside. Sherlock and I turned to look at the window where the curtains were billowing inwards. Sheet music fluttered off Sherlock's music stand and onto the floor. Sherlock and I looked back at Lestrade.

' _What the hell did Sherlock text him?_ ' I wondered. I expected Lestrade to yell at Sherlock, and he did, for fifteen minutes. Personally, given the fact that Sherlock ruined Lestrade's chances of getting the credit for a bust he'd been working on _for months_ , I would have yelled at him for a solid half an hour _at least_. However, after he was done yelling he did sit down and help Sherlock.

"This could have all been avoided if you'd just _done the speech sooner_!" I scolded him after Lestrade had left.

"So you've said," he snapped grabbing his violin and turning to his music stand. "Now don't talk. I need to finish this." With that he began playing the piece he had been working on for weeks.

"I really do like this piece," I told Sherlock as we waltzed around the living room the next morning. "It's perfect."

"There's always room for improvement," he replied.

"Well they're going to love it." The door creaked open and I peeked around Sherlock's shoulder to see Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway with a tray of tea. Sherlock glanced back at her.

"Shut up, Mrs. Hudson," he snapped.

"I haven't said a word," she replied. Sherlock sighed heavily as we turned toward her, still waltzing.

"You're formulating a question," he said. "And it's physically painful watching you think." With another sigh he released me.

"I thought it was you playing," she told him.

"It _was_ me playing," he muttered as he grabbed the remote for his iPod dock and shut off the music. "I am composing." He started to write out corrections on his sheet music.

"You were _dancing_ ," Mrs. Hudson corrected him.

"I was road-testing," he responded snippily.

" _We_ were, you mean," I put in.

"You what?" Mrs. Hudson asked a mixture of surprise and glee in her voice. She gave me a wide smile as if she thought perhaps Sherlock was talking about practicing this dance for _our_ wedding. Sherlock threw down his pen and rounded on her.

"Why are you here?" he demanded.

"I'm bringing you your morning tea," she explained as she poured us each a cup. "You're not _usually_ awake."

"You bring me tea in the morning?" he questioned as he sat down in his chair.

"Where do you think it came from?" she chuckled.

"I don't know," he muttered. "I thought it just—sort of happened."

"You mother has a lot to answer for," she said as she brought him his cup.

"Mmm, I know," he agreed. "I have a list. Mycroft has a _file_." He took a sip of his tea. Mrs. Hudson handed me my tea before sitting down in John's chair. I perched on the coffee table. Mrs. Hudson giggled happily and patted her knees a few times.

"So, it's the big day then." She was all smiles. She had always been one to get excited over things like weddings and baby showers. Not that I _wasn't_ excited about John and Mary's wedding it was just that I knew Sherlock was feeling anxious about it and I felt like being all giddy over it would make him feel worse for _not_ feeling that way.

Sherlock audibly swallowed his mouthful of tea and then studied what was left in his cup.

"What big day?" he questioned.

"The _wedding_ ," Mrs. Hudson answered sounding as though she thought he had forgotten. "John and Mary are getting married!"

"Two people who currently live together are about to attend church, have a party, go on a _short_ holiday, then carry on living together," he rattled off in a bored voice. "What's big about that?"

' _Well there go all my hopes of convincing Sherlock to marry_ _ **me**_ _,_ ' I brooded. Not that my hopes had been all that high to begin with.

"It changes people, marriage," Mrs. Hudson insisted.

"Mmm, no it doesn't," Sherlock argued.

"Well," she replied with a shrug. "You wouldn't understand 'cause you always live alone." Sherlock had his tea halfway to his mouth but he stopped and drew in a breath.

"Oi!" I complained. "What about me? What am I? A piece of furniture?"

"Oh, Reilen, dear I only meant that Sherlock's—well— _Sherlock_ , you know." Apparently, that meant that no one really saw my relationship with Sherlock actually _going_ anywhere. How bloody _fantastic_.

"Your husband was executed for double murder," Sherlock quipped at her. "You're hardly an advert for companionship." He took another sip of tea, giving her an annoyed look over the top of his cup.

"Marriage changes you as a person," she insisted. "In ways that you can't imagine."

"As does lethal injection." Sherlock gave her a tight smile, sounding quite done with the conversation now.

' _And that's his real take on marriage right there,_ ' I noted. ' _Mum's never going to forgive me for falling for him._ ' My mother wanted grandchildren; she wanted to see her children get married. Carlisle was still too busy with work to hold down a girlfriend for longer than a few months and I had never had a boyfriend before Sherlock.

"My best friend, Margaret," Mrs. Hudson went on, completely ignoring Sherlock's mood. "She was my Chief Bridesmaid, we were going to best friends forever, we always said that." Sherlock looked around the room, obviously trying to find something to use to get Mrs. Hudson out of the flat.

"But I hardly saw her after that."

"Aren't there usually biscuits?" he demanded getting to his feet.

"I've run out,' she said simply.

"Have the shops?" His tone was sharper now.

"She cried the _whole_ day, saying "Ooh it's the end of an era"," Mrs. Hudson continued. Sherlock was restlessly pacing near the door.

"I'm sure the shop on the corner is open!" he told her loudly.

"She was probably right, really." Sherlock closed his eyes, looking pained. I'd never seen Mrs. Hudson go on like this before. Nor had I ever seen Sherlock get so worked up by her. He usually had her on semi-permanent mute.

"I remember she left early. I mean, who leaves a _wedding_ early? So sad." Sherlock would. He'd get fed up with all the people and either find a crime to solve or make up an excuse. I'd have to stop him from doing that today.

"Mmm." Sherlock agreed. "Anyway, you've got things to do." He might as well have just told her to get out.

"Not really," she replied. "I've got plenty of time to…"

" _Biscuits_!" he shouted at her. She gasped and shot out of John's chair.

"I really am going to have a word with your mother," she snapped as she walked briskly out of the flat.

"Can if you like, she understands very little." Sherlock slammed the door behind her. He sighed heavily and I noticed a muscle in his jaw twitch. He looked over at John's chair looking sad.

"He's not going anywhere, you know," I told him. "I mean, he's not coming back here but he'll still be around. He'll still come on cases and things."

"Was he around for you?" Sherlock snapped at me.

"No," I admitted. "But you were dead and coming here bothered him. He got on with his life. Now you're back and he's not going to waste his second chance with you. We both know what it feels like not to have you; you're never getting rid of us now." Without a word he turned and headed into our bedroom. I followed him. It was about time we got ready to go.

"Right then," he muttered as he took off his dressing gown. He stopped in front of the wardrobe where his morning suit and my dress were hanging on the open door. He took a deep breath.

"Into battle." I rolled my eyes.

"Drama queen," I scoffed.

* * *

The wedding was beautiful. I was one of Mary's bridesmaids but not the _Chief_ _Bridesmaid_. That title belonged to a woman named Janine. I tried not to feel too jealous whenever she was close to Sherlock. I knew he probably didn't even notice that she was interested in him.

"Congratulations!" the photographer cried as John and Mary exited the church ahead of the bridal party. "Okay hold it there, I want to get this shot of the newlyweds." Sherlock stepped up beside Mary so that he was in the shot.

"Ah, _just_ the bride and groom please," the photographer requested. Sherlock stayed in his spot.

"Sherlock," John said.

"Oh, sorry," Sherlock replied and finally stepped to the side.

"Okay, three, two, one." The other bridesmaids and I threw handfuls of flower petals into the air just as he took the picture. Many more pictures followed. I saw Molly standing with Tom watching Sherlock and I unhappily. She still felt bad about what had happened with Wesley and I hadn't made it any easier on her. I hadn't held anything back when I'd pointed out that if she's _listened_ to me than none of this would have happened.

After the photographer had taken a few shots of Sherlock and Janine I saw her talking to him. He looked started by something she had said and she laughed. I figured she had said something about sleeping with him. Sherlock still looked startled when people brought up his sex life out of the blue. Not that I was much better. Sherlock was clearly deducing one of the guests for her, probably helping her find someone to hook up with. She said something and linked her arm with his as the photographer came by to get another picture. Sherlock frowned down her arm.

"Sherlock," I said coming over. "Mary wanted us to get some pictures with her and John." That wasn't true but I was sure Mary would be fine with it. I was fed up with watching Janine flirt with my boyfriend.

At the reception venue I stood beside Sherlock in the receiving line and smiled and shook hands with the guests as they came inside. A tall man approached the line and Mary smiled widely.

" _David_!" She reached out to hug him but he pulled back, laughing nervously, and took her hands instead.

"Mary," he replied. "Congratulations. You look—um—very nice." He dropped her hands quickly.

"Thanks," Mary said sounding confused by his behavior. David moved on to John and held out his hand.

"John, congratulations," he said as he and John shook hands. "You're a lucky man."

"Thank you," John replied. Mary was still watching David in confusion. Shaking off the look she gestured past John.

"Um—David this is Sherlock and Reilen," she introduced us.

"Mmm," Sherlock murmured eyeing David sternly.

"Um—yeah—we've um—" David stammered. "We've met."

* * *

Several Weeks Ago

As part of Sherlock's Best Man duties he was meeting with the male members of the bridal party. David, an ex-boyfriend of Mary's, was going to be an usher. He and Sherlock sat across from each other at the dining table. My laptop was sitting on the sofa as the table was littered with papers and wedding stuff.

"So what exactly are my duties as an usher?" David asked picking up Sherlock's Sudoku cube and fiddling with it.

"Let's talk about Mary first," Sherlock decided.

"Sorry, what?" David tilted his head in confusion.

"Oh, I think you know what," Sherlock snapped. "You went out with her for two years."

"Uh—ages ago," David responded nervously. "We're just good friends now."

"Is that a fact?" Sherlock questioned. "Whenever she tweets, you respond within five minutes, regardless of time or current location suggesting you have her on text alert." I watched David's eyes get wider and wider and had to stop myself from laughing.

"In all your Facebook photographs of the happy couple, Mary takes center frame whereas John is always _partly_ or _entirely_ excluded."

"Wait," David laughed nervously. "You can't assume from that that I've still got some kind of interest in Mary?" He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"You volunteered to be a shoulder to cry on no less than _three_ separate occasions," Sherlock said sharply. "Do you have anything to say in your defense?" David opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly trying to form words but not being able to.

"I think for now we'll downgrade you to _casual acquaintance_ , no more than three planned social encounters a year and always in John's presence. I have your contact details. I _will_ be monitoring." David's face changed rapidly as Sherlock spoke. First he looked shocked that this was even happening. Then he looked a little miffed that Sherlock was telling him what to do. Finally his stared at Sherlock like Sherlock had just admitted to being a serial killer.

"They're right about you," he said at last. "You're a _bloody psychopath_."

"High-functioning sociopath," Sherlock corrected him. "With your number." David looked completely freaked out as he rushed from the flat. Sherlock replaced his Sudoku cube without a word.

"You scared him," I scolded.

"He deserved it," Sherlock snapped. "He would have likely ruined John's marriage otherwise."

"If _David_ could ruin John's marriage then maybe it wasn't meant to be."

"I don't want John getting hurt," Sherlock bit out. "He's had enough hurt on my account. He deserves to be happy."

"Oh Sherlock," I sighed as I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around him from behind and resting my chin on his shoulder. "I love it when you get all protective."

* * *

The Wedding

David stammered for another moment before smiling nervously, waving to John, and ducking into the reception hall. John looked at Sherlock and then leaned forward to give me a confused look. I shrugged as if I had no idea what was wrong with David. A few more people came by to say hello and then a young boy rushed past John and threw his arms around Sherlock's waist.

"Oh," John remarked in surprise. Everyone else chuckled at the display of affection.

"Yes—um—well done at the service, Archie," Sherlock said sounding uncomfortable with having the little boy hugging him.

"He's really come out of his shell," Archie's mother noted. "I don't know how you did it."

"Um…" Sherlock muttered.

* * *

Several Weeks Ago

The boy who was going to be John and Mary's ring bearer was brought to the flat by his mother. He came upstairs while she had tea with Mrs. Hudson. Archie was an adorable little boy with big brown eyes and a mop of dark brown hair that fell in ringlets around his face. I imagined Sherlock looked something like that when _he_ was a child. I had a mental image of little Sherlock studying something, his pale green eyes wide with excitement and his ebony curls falling across his forehead.

Archie's mother had explained to us that he seemed reluctant to be the ring bearer and she hoped Sherlock could persuade him to do it.

Sherlock, who normally hated people, didn't seem to mind Archie at all. He sat in his chair and Arche perched on the edge of John's and they regarded each other silently for quite some time. Sherlock was supposed to be explaining to Archie what his duties were but he didn't get right to it the way he had with David. Sucking in a quick breath Sherlock began to speak rapidly.

"Basically, it's a cute smile to the bride's side, cute smile to the groom's side and then the rings."

"No," Archie said quietly but defiantly.

"And you have to wear the outfit," Sherlock added.

"No," Archie said again.

"You really _do_ have to wear the outfit," Sherlock insisted.

"What for?" Archie demanded.

"Grownups like that sort of thing," Sherlock replied.

"Why?" Archie demanded.

"I don't know," Sherlock answered. "I'll ask one." I smiled at the exchange. I had always imagined that Sherlock would be dismissive of children but he didn't even get frustrated with Archie's refusals and questions.

"You're a detective?" Archie questioned slowly.

"Yep," Sherlock said popping the 'p' at the end of the word.

"Have you solved any murders?" I thought that was a really odd question for a kid to be asking but Sherlock didn't even pause before he replied.

"Sure, loads."

"Can _I_ see?" Archie asked. Sherlock did pause then, but only for a minute.

"Yeah all right," he agreed as he got up. Archie followed him over to his laptop and Sherlock began typing away. I thought about reprimanding him, reminding him that Archie was a _child_ and shouldn't be seeing things like that. But then I thought about what Sherlock had said he'd been like as a child. Clever, able to solve murders that even the police couldn't. I was sure _he_ had looked at pictures like this too. I decided to keep my mouth shut and simply smiled at Archie hovering close to Sherlock, peering at the laptop screen as Sherlock clicked through some photographs.

"What's all that stuff in his eye?" Archie asked.

"Maggots," Sherlock answered.

" _Cool_ ," Archie exclaimed. Sherlock looked over at Archie and I saw the approval on his face.

"Hmm," he agreed as he turned back to his laptop.

* * *

The Wedding

"He said you had some pictures for him," Archie's mother said to Sherlock. "As a treat."

"Er—yes," Sherlock agreed. "If he's—uh—good." He patted Archie on the head.

" _Beheadings_ ," Archie said cheekily.

"Lovely little village," Sherlock said quickly. Archie released him and grinned widely at me as he led his mother into the reception.

"Hmm?" she was asking her son. "What did you say?"

Once we had finished greeting the guests we followed John and Mary inside for cocktail hour.

"I'm going to be helping Janine find a date," Sherlock said quietly to me. I blinked in surprise and held up my hand.

"I'm sorry," I snapped. " _What_!?"

"She's going to be useful and I need her to like me—to trust me," he answered. "I'll explain everything later."

"You'd better," I replied. He planted a quick kiss on my cheek before walking over to Janine. I watched her point someone out and Sherlock quickly deduced them. Sighing, I looked around the room. Molly was being ridiculously affectionate with Tom. The photographer came by and she and Tom posed for a photo. Mrs. Hudson and Mr. Chatterjee from the sandwich shop were nearby. Mrs. Hudson was clearly thrilled about the wedding. Mr. Chatterjee looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Lestrade was sitting by himself at a table drinking whiskey or maybe it was scotch. I couldn't tell. He looked lonely so I went over and sat with him.

"Cheer up," I told him. "It's a _wedding_."

"Yeah," he muttered. "Well, me and the wife…we're separated again. Her and that damn _P.E. teacher_."

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I didn't mean to upset you." Lestrade patted my hand and gave me a small smile.

"No need to be sorry," he replied. "You're probably right about cheering up. I don't want John and Mary to think I'm not enjoying myself. I'm sure Sherlock's Best Man speech is going to be enough to put me in a good mood." I chuckled nervously.

"Right…" I agreed. I really hoped the speech went well. With Sherlock you never knew what you were going to get. He hadn't let me read it so I had no idea what he was going to say.

A man walked into the reception hall in full military garb. John hurried over and the two of them saluted each other. I got to my feet and went over to Mary who was watching them with a smile on her face.

"He came?" I said excitedly.

"He did," she agreed.

"So that's him," Sherlock said appearing beside me so suddenly that I jumped. " _Major Sholto_." He drew out the 'sh' sound. Clearly, he was annoyed although I couldn't understand why.

"Uh-huh," Mary replied. There was a moment of silence before Sherlock drew in a breath.

"If they're such good friends, why does he barely even mention him?" he asked in a low voice.

"Mentions him all the time to me," Mary disagreed. "Never shuts up about him."

"About _him_?" Sherlock demanded.

"Mmm-hmm." Mary took a sip from the wine glass she was holding.

" _Ugh_ ," she complained making a face at the remaining contents of the glass. "I chose this wine. It's bloody _awful_."

"It tastes fine to me," I said frowning down at my own wine glass.

"Yes, but, it was definitely _him_ that he talks about?" Sherlock went on.

"Mmm-hmm," Mary said.

"I've heard loads of stories about him too," I agreed. Sherlock scowled at me.

"You have not," he snapped. I nodded insistently.

"He told my dad all about him when we went on holiday. I'm really glad he came, what with John's family not being here and all."

"I've never even heard him say his name," Sherlock muttered.

"That's because you were too busy deducing my parents' house," I pointed out.

"Well, he's almost a recluse," Mary added. "You know, since…"

"Yes," Sherlock cut in.

"I didn't think he'd show up at all," she went on. "John says he's the most unsociable man he's ever met."

" _He_ is?" Sherlock said sharply. " _He's_ the most unsociable?"

"Mmm," Mary agreed as she started to take another sip of wine.

"Ah, that's why he's _bouncing_ around him like a _puppy_ ," he noted moodily. Mary lowered her glass and smiled at Sherlock.

"Oh, _Sherlock_ ," she said hugging him arm. "Neither of us were the first, you know."

"Stop smiling," he ordered.

"It's my _wedding day_!" she reminded him. Sherlock walked away without another word. Mary and I grinned at each other. Her next sip of wine made her gag again and I frowned at her.

' _She wasn't feeling well this morning either,_ ' I remembered. ' _Perhaps she's coming down with something._ ' I looked around for Sherlock and saw him near the back of the hall talking on his mobile. As I approached he ended the conversation looking distant and upset.

"Something the matter?" I questioned.

"Mycroft's not coming," he muttered.

"Well, it's not really his sort of thing, is it?" I said. "But it'll be fine. You've got me." Sherlock offered me a small smile.

"Yes, I do, don't I?" he agreed. A few moments later, dinner was announced and as Sherlock turned away I saw that same distant look return to his eyes.


	26. Let's Talk About the Stag Night

Chapter 27: Let's Talk About the Stag Night

They were going on a pub crawl. A themed one where they would go to a pub on every street where they'd found a corpse. Molly had called me after Sherlock had stopped in to see her. She wasn't sure this was very good idea.

"They'll be fine," I assured her. "You gave him the exact amount that they should drink."

"How do you know?" she asked. I smiled at the table where two tall beakers sat.

"Because he told me." We said goodbye and I went to help Sherlock get ready for his night out.

* * *

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to come with me?" he questioned. "Lestrade is meeting us after his shift ends so I don't see any reason why you couldn't join us."

"I think I'd be a little out of place, don't you?" I pointed out. "I'll be fine." I was going out with Mary and the other bridesmaids for Mary's hen night.

"Well, if you change your mind, call me," he replied.

"Another text from Sherlock?" Mary asked as I studied my phone. I nodded.

"He's just letting me know where they are," I replied. "In case I want to go meet up with them."

"You can, you know," she told me. "I don't mind." I smiled at her and shook my head.

"I'm all right for now," I replied.

* * *

I finally reached my limit with the hen night. I was quite sick of Janine acting like she knew everything. Having known Sherlock for five years I knew that she didn't even come close. Plus there was talk of going to a male strip club, something I had _absolutely_ no desire to do.

"I'm going to catch up with our boys," I said quietly to Mary. "Sherlock's been sending me some pretty strange texts." I wasn't making that up. I couldn't even make sense of some of them which worried me. He had specifically said he wanted to remain in the "sweet spot" all evening. Getting completely drunk was not part of the plan.

"Keep them out of trouble, would you?" she asked.

"I'll try my best." I was pretty tipsy as it was and had to catch a cab to the pub where Sherlock and John were.

* * *

I walked into the pub, resisting the urge to turn around and leave. This place was much louder and much more crowded than the ones I had been to with Mary and the other bridesmaids. I saw John sitting at a table further inside and I headed over to him.

"Where's Sherlock?" I asked as I sat down.

"Hm?" he replied looking around sleepily. "Rei, what're you doing here?"

"I'd had enough of Janine," I answered. "And Sherlock wasn't making a lot of sense in his texts. Is he all right?"

"Oh, yeah," John said. "He's—he's fine." John seemed to be pretty drunk which I hadn't expected, not with Sherlock's careful planning.

"So where is he?" I prodded.

"Who?" John blinked at me.

" _Sherlock_." I rolled my eyes. "John, what've you done?"

"I know ash!" Sherlock came through the crowd after another man.

"Sod off!" the man shouted. John sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"I know ash!" Sherlock repeated getting into the man's personal space. "Don't tell me I don't!" With each word he poked the man in the chest before shoving him on the last word. The man swung at Sherlock but he drunkenly dodged out of the way.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" John cried getting to his feet. "All right, enough!" Another man grabbed the first man to hold him back while John hauled Sherlock backwards. Sherlock continued to swing at his attacker but John had pulled him well out of range. I jumped up and hurried over to them.

"Ashtray," Sherlock said pointing at the man. "I know ashtray." I had _no idea_ what he was on about.

"Okay, it's time to go," I decided. "C'mon." Sherlock smiled broadly at me and threw his arms around me.

"Reilen!" he cried happily. "Hello! Come to have drink with us?"

"No," I snapped. "It's time to go home."

"Okay," he agreed just as happily. He leaned on me and I struggled to get him outside. John followed after us clearly too tired to notice that I was having trouble.

"John, what did you do?" I demanded once we were all loaded into the back of a cab. "What the bloody hell did you put in his drink!?"

"Just some…um…you know…" he mumbled.

" _No, I don't know_!" I grounded out as Sherlock leaned against me.

"Just a shot." I groaned.

"You put _liquor_ in the beer!?" They'd been to seven pubs in about two house, probably had more than one drink at each pub, and _John thought it was good idea to put_ _ **shots**_ _in the beer!?_

"I wanted to get drunk," John grumped. "It was too planned out." Sherlock chuckled and cuddled up to me.

"You've made her mad," he told John. "We're in for a scolding." This was just _bloody fantastic_!

The cab let us off at 221 B and I ushered both of them inside.

"Sit," I ordered pointing to the stairs. They sat obediently and I headed upstairs to make sure there was nothing lying around from them to trip over. When I came back they were laying in the stairwell mumbling to each other. Something about Sherlock and his international reputation. The door to Mrs. Hudson's flat opened and she came down the hallway with a garbage bag.

"Oh," she said in surprise. "What are you doing back? I thought you were going to be out late?"

"Ah, Hudders," Sherlock replied tiredly. "What time is it?"

"You've only been out two hours," she answered. John and Sherlock both tried to sit up at the same time causing Sherlock to slip down one step.

"Get up here," I ordered as I texted Mary about their current condition.

"Reilen you're back too?" Mrs. Hudson asked as John and Sherlock trudged up the stairs. "Wasn't the hen-do any fun?"

"I've had my fill of girl time," I answered. "Besides, these two are plastered. They need looking after."

"Call if you need anything," she called after me as I headed into the flat. John and Sherlock were settled in their chairs each with a glass of whiskey.

"Rei!" Sherlock called excitedly when he spotted me in the doorway. "Come have a drink. We're about to play a game!"

"You never call me that." I frowned at him. He and Mycroft were the only ones who had never used my nickname.

"Thought I'd try it out." He grinned at me.

"Don't," I snapped. I _liked_ that he only ever used my full name. John stood up and held out a glass of whiskey.

"Here," he said. "You need this."

"John, I don't _want_ anything to drink," I sighed. "I'm going to bed."

"But we're about to play Who Am I," he insisted. "Don't you want to play?" I shook my head.

"I'm tired," I said. "I'm going to bed. Don't drink too much more, all right?"

"Yes, Mum," John chuckled. Sherlock giggled drunkenly at that.

"And drink some water!" I left them in the living room and went straight to bed. I was tired; those two were acting like children. That, on top of the two hours I had spent with Janine were all I needed to make me want to turn in for the night.

For a little bit I listened to the two of them laugh and ask each other questions but I soon drifted off.

* * *

My mobile woke me the next morning.

"They're in jail," Lestrade told me when I answered. "Got thrown in the drunk tank."

"Oh for god's sake!" I huffed. "Be right there." I got dressed quickly and rushed over to Scotland Yard.

"What did they do!?" I demanded when Lestrade met me at the front desk.

"Seems they went on a case," he filled me in. "And the landlord of the flat they were checking out called us when Sherlock threw up all over the floor."

"Great," I fumed. "That's just bloody _great_!" Lestrade chuckled and patted my shoulder.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "They just needed to sleep it off." He led me back to the cell where the two of them were being held. Sherlock was sleeping on the only cot and John was sleeping in a sitting position with his back against the wall.

"Wakey wakey!" Lestrade said loudly as he threw open the door.

"Oh, my god," John muttered. "Greg. Is that Greg?"

"Get up," Lestrade said. "I'm gonna put you two in a taxi. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant." He chuckled but it was clear that he was pretty miffed with them.

"What a couple of lightweights," he noted, his voice getting louder again. "You couldn't even make it to closing time."

"Can you whisper?" John requested as he got to his feet.

"NOT REALLY!" Lestrade shouted back. Sherlock sat up and looked around in confusion. John frowned at Lestrade looking both confused and upset before walking out of the cell.

"Come on," Lestrade said to Sherlock. I marched ahead of the group and waited for Sherlock and John at the front desk. Their personal effects were returned to them and Sherlock groaned as he put his coat on.

"Well, thanks for…you know," John said to Sherlock. "An evening."

"It was awful," Sherlock complained as we headed out of the building.

"Yep," John agreed. Sherlock groaned again and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"I was gonna pretend but…" John trailed off. "It _was_ , truly."

"You could have at least waited for Lestrade before you got completely plastered," I scolded them. "He was really looking forward to it."

"I know," John sighed. "I know."

"That woman," Sherlock said suddenly. "Tessa…"  
"What?" John asked. Who was _Tessa_!?

"Dated a ghost," Sherlock reminded John. "Most interesting case for months. What a _wasted_ opportunity." Oh. The client. Right, the whole reason they were in the jail in first place.


	27. The Sign of Three Part 2

Chapter 26: The Sign of Three Part 2: The Best Man Speech

I didn't get a chance to talk to Sherlock during dinner as I was seated on the other side of Janine. When the Master of Ceremonies tapped a spoon against a glass and the other guests fell silent I saw Sherlock go very pale.

"Pray, silence for the Best Man!" the Master of Ceremonies called out. Sherlock stood to a round of applause and buttoned his jacket.

"Ladies and gentleman," Sherlock began. "Family and friends. And…um…others." He fell silent and the crowd shifted restlessly. Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade looked from Sherlock to me worriedly.

' _Oh dear…_ ' I knew something like this would happen. _Why_ was Janine the Chief Bridesmaid!? If I were sitting next to him I could do something!

"A—Also…" Another moment of silence followed. I peeked around Janine and saw John mutter something and Sherlock perked up.

"First things first!" he called out. "Telegrams. Well they're not _actually_ telegrams. We just _call_ them telegrams. I don't know why. _Wedding tradition_. Because we don't have enough of that already, _apparently_." I resisted the urge to hide my face in my hands. This was not off to a great start.

"To Mr. and Mrs. Watson," he read off from a card. "So sorry I'm unable to be with you on your special day. Good luck and best wishes, Mike Stamford."

"Aw," Mary sighed.

"Aw, Mike," John said at the same time.

"To John and Mary," Sherlock went on with the next one. "All good wishes for your special day. With love and many big…" He paused and seemed to have trouble saying the next bit.

"Big _squishy cuddles_ from Stella and Ted." He sounded like he wanted nothing more than to be done with reading these. He paused again. I saw Lestrade chuckle.

"Mary, lots of love… _Oh_!" He began to read but stopped. I had a feeling he disliked this telegram more than the last one.

"Yeah?" John prompted.

"… _poppet_ ," Sherlock finished. "Oodles of love and heaps of good wishes from Cam. Wish your family could have seen this." I peeked around Janine again and saw that Mary looked upset. John took her hand and smiled warmly at her.

"Um…Special day," Sherlock read as he began flipping through the rest of the telegrams and dropping them onto the table. "Very special day."

' _Oh, god,_ _ **why**_ _!?_ ' I groaned mentally. ' _Is he_ _ **trying**_ _to give me an aneurysm!?_ '

"Love," he read on quickly. "Love. Love. Love. Love. Bit of a theme, you get the general gist. People are basically _fond_." Several of the guests laughed at this. I assumed they thought that Sherlock was doing all this to be funny but I thought it was fairly obvious that he was just fed up.

"John Watson," he said loudly before going on in a more subdued tone. "My friend, John Watson." He paused.

"John," he said clearly fumbling through his speech again. "When John first broached the subject of being Best Man I was confused." _That_ was an understatement.

* * *

A Few Months Ago

"Sherlock?" John's voice called as he came up the stairs. I lifted my head from the kitchen table and turned toward the staircase. Sherlock was experimenting with eyeballs again and I had been watching as I had nothing better to do.

"What was all that noise downstairs?" Sherlock asked John.

"Ah, it was Mrs. Hudson laughing," John answered. He stopped short when he saw that Sherlock was using a pair of large tweezer to hold the optic nerve of an eyeball to the flame of a blowtorch.

"It sounds like she was _torturing_ an owl," Sherlock muttered.

"Yeah," John chuckled. "Well it was laughter."

"Could have been both," Sherlock pointed out.

"Busy?" John pointed to the eyeball and blowtorch which Sherlock still had in his hands. Sherlock sighed heavily.

"Just occupying myself," he replied. "Sometimes it's _so hard_ not smoking." The eyeball fell out of the tweezers and landed in his mug of tea with a little ' _plop_ '. He looked down at it and I craned my neck to see into the cup.

"Hm…" we muttered.

"Mind if I interrupt?" John asked. Sherlock dropped the tweezers onto the table.

"Be my guest," he responded gesturing to an empty chair and shutting off the blowtorch.

"Tea?" He held up his mug, the same mug with the eyeball in it.

"Ah…" John chuckled before sitting down. "So, the big question."

"Mmm-hmm?" Sherlock asked.

"The Best Man," John said and looked at Sherlock expectantly.

"The Best Man?" Sherlock repeated.

"What do you think?" John questioned.

"Billy Kincaid," Sherlock answered without hesitation. I rolled my eyes. Did he really not know what John was asking him? There was a moment of silence where John seemed to be digesting what Sherlock had said.

"Sorry, what?" he asked.

"Billy Kincaid," Sherlock explained. "The Camden garrotter. Best man I ever knew. _Vast_ contributions to charity never disclosed. _Personally_ managed to save _three_ hospital from closure. I mean, the best and safest children's homes in North England." John was massaging his forehead. He had to be messing with John. Surely, Sherlock couldn't be that daft.

"Yes, every now and again there would be some garrotings," Sherlock admitted. "But stacking up the lives saved _against_ the garrotings on balance I'd say…"  
"For my wedding," John snapped. "For me. _I_ need a Best Man."

"Oh, right," Sherlock said. Apparently, he _could_ be that daft.

"Maybe not a garrotter," John requested.

"Gavin?" Sherlock suggested. John drew in a long breath.

" _Who_?" he asked.

' _He does this on purpose,_ ' I thought. ' _He has to. With all the random things he can remember there's_ _ **no way**_ _that he doesn't actually remember Lestrade's name!_ '

"Gavin Lestrade," Sherlock said. "He's a man and good at it." He shrugged.

"It's _Greg_ ," John reminded him. "And he's not my best friend."

" _Oh_ , Mike Stamford, I see," Sherlock sighed. "Well, he's nice, um…though I'm not sure how well he'd cope with…"

"No, Mike's _great_ ," John said quickly. "But _he's_ not my best friend." Sherlock tilted his head and studied John.

' _Oh Sherlock, honey,_ ' I sighed. ' _It's_ _ **you**_ _! It's always been you._ '

"Look, Sherlock, this is biggest and most important day of my life," John said.

" _Well_ …" Sherlock cut in quietly.

"No, _it is_ ," John snapped. "It _is_. And I want to be up there with the _two people_ that I love and care about most in the world."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed. John nodded and waited for Sherlock to go on but he didn't.

"Mary Morstan…" John said leadingly.

"Yes," Sherlock said slowly. John sighed and I shook my head.

"And…" he went on, still trying to lead Sherlock to the correct answer. Sherlock still didn't get it.

" _You_ ," John finished. Sherlock blinked rapidly several times.

* * *

The Wedding

"I confess at first I didn't realize he was asking me," Sherlock explained to the crowd. I rolled my eyes.

"So daft," I muttered under my breath.

"When finally I understood, I expressed to him that I was both flattered and surprised," Sherlock went on. I leaned around Janine and raised an eyebrow at him.

* * *

Several Months Ago

Sherlock didn't say anything. John looked from Sherlock to me.

"Oh—um—three people," John said quickly. "I meant to add you too, Rei, of course—um…" I smiled and shook my head.

"I know, don't worry about me," I assured him. "I think you broke Sherlock." We turned back to him but Sherlock hadn't moved. He wasn't even blinking now.

* * *

The Wedding

"I explained to him that I had never expected this request," Sherlock said. "And I was a little _daunted_ in the face of it." John leaned forward and raised an eyebrow at me. That _was not_ what happened.

* * *

Several Months Ago

"Sherlock?" John asked. Sherlock swallowed audibly. He had started blinking rapidly again.

"I don't know what to do with this," I said to John. "I've never seen him stay quiet this long." We turned back to Sherlock but he still hadn't moved.

* * *

The Wedding

"I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task which was, for _me_ , as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated," Sherlock continued. John looked down at his hands and I began examining the tablecloth. This story was beginning to drag on and I was still waiting for him to say something that was even half-true.

"Additionally, I thanked him for the trust he placed in me," Sherlock said. "And indicated that I was, in some ways, very close to being moved by it."

* * *

Several Months Ago

Sherlock's eyebrows slowly knitted together, the only movement he'd made is several minutes.

"No, it's getting a bit scary now," John said shaking his head. He looked from me to Sherlock and back again.

"Sherlock, you need to say something," I told him. "You're starting to worry us." Still, he just stood and stared at John.

* * *

The Wedding

"It later transpired that I'd said none of this out loud," Sherlock told the crowd. There it was. _That_ was the truth of it. Everyone began to laugh.

* * *

Several Months Ago

John looked up at Sherlock expectantly, waiting for him to say something. Sherlock opened his mouth, drew in a breath, and swallowed audibly again.

"So, in fact…" he began slowly. He stopped and narrowed his eyes.

"You—you mean…" he tried again.

"Yes," John agreed nodding and smiling up at him. Sherlock took another breath.

"I'm _your_ …" he paused and John nodded again.

"Best…" Sherlock said slowly.

"Man," John finished.

"…friend?" Sherlock questioned uncertainly at the same time. John looked up at him like that was the silliest question he'd ever heard.

"Yeah, of course you are," he answered. " _'Course_ you're my best friend." He sighed and smiled first at Sherlock and then at me. Sherlock seemed a little shocked by this realization and grabbed the mug of tea off of the table.

"Sherlock—" I began but he was already taking a drink. He sipped it loudly and swallowed hard.

"Well, how was _that_?" John asked. Sherlock smacked his lips and moved his tongue around his mouth.

"Surprisingly okay," he responded. I scrunched up my face in disgust. I doubted that an _eyeball_ in my tea would taste anything close to okay.

"So you'll have to make a speech, of course," John mentioned. Sherlock stared at John and the silence returned.

"You broke him again," I complained.

* * *

The Wedding

Sherlock reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his note cards.

"So…" he murmured after clearing his throat. "Done that. Done that." He began flipping through cards and laying them on the table.

' _What in God's name…?_ ' I wondered as we all watched him.

"Done that bit," he muttered. "Done that bit. Done that bit." He straightened his cards and took a deep breath, finally looking up at the crowd again.

"I'm afraid, John, I can't congratulate you," he said and I nearly stood up and dragged him from the room. He needed a talking to, this was getting ridiculous!

' _Just let him finish,_ ' I insisted to myself. ' _Causing a scene will be more embarrassing for John and Mary than this is. At least most people think it's a joke._ '

"All emotions, and in particular love, stand opposed to the cold hard reason I hold above all things," he continued. I peeked around Janine and saw the dumbfounded looks on John and Mary's faces.

' _You love me,_ ' I argued mentally. ' _I think you do. You do. You said so._ ' I shook my head to dislodge the thought. That wasn't going to get me anywhere.

"A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of _all_ that is false and specious," Sherlock explained. "And irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world. Today we honour the deathwatch beetle that is the _doom_ of our society and in time, one feels certain, our entire species." People were getting upset now. Disgruntled noises came from all over the room. Mrs. Hudson was shaking her head. Lestrade leaned toward her and muttered something. Molly looked like she was worried that Sherlock was on something. My parents were looking at me like they were wondering what they had ever done to me for them have to put up with a boyfriend like Sherlock. Carlisle looked like he wanted to punch Sherlock, probably because he knew how much I had always dreamed of getting married. Octavia and Talon just looked confused.

"But anyway, let's talk about John," he said.

"Please," John requested quietly covering it up by clearing his throat.

"If I burden myself with a little helpmate during my adventures," Sherlock went on. "It is not out of sentiment or caprice, it is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me. Indeed, any reputation I have for mental acuity and sharpness comes in truth from the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides."

' _He_ _ **did not**_ _just say what I think he just said!_ ' I fumed. ' _How can he call John stupid in front of all these people!?_ '

"It is a fact, I believe, that brides tend to favour exceptionally _plain_ bridesmaids for their big day. There is a certain analogy there, I feel." Janine was looking up at Sherlock, clearly offended. I glanced at my family at saw the outrage on their faces.

' _He doesn't think I'm plain,_ ' I told myself. ' _He_ _ **doesn't**_ _. He means in general. He'd_ _ **better**_ _mean in general._ '

"And, contrast is, after all," he continued. "God's own plan to enhance the beauty of his creation. Or it _would_ be if God were not a _ludicrous_ fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity for the family idiot." The minister was looking offended now and the crowd wasn't being so quiet about their displeasure.

"The point I'm trying to make," Sherlock said. "Is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant, and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet."

' _Now he's being too hard on himself,_ ' I sighed mentally. This, I had learned, was a big problem with Sherlock. He was all of the things he had mentioned and most everyone saw that. However, he seemed to believe that that was all there was to him. He was only smarter than everyone else and a complete areshole and nothing else. _I_ knew that wasn't true. Mycroft, John, Mary, all our friends, _they_ knew it wasn't true. But Sherlock seemed to believe that it was. Because the alternative was that he cared. He cared _too much_ and that was not an advantage. So he pretended not to care at all.

The problem with this bit of his speech, right now at least, was that my family looked like they believed all of that to be true. Despite having spent the summer with him they seemed to be deciding that he was the worst person I could ever date.

' _It's going to take a lot to talk them down on this one,_ ' I told myself.

"I am dismissive of the virtuous," Sherlock kept on. "Unaware of the beautiful." Here he turned to toward Janine who perked up, clearly over his 'plain bridesmaids' comment. My parents and Carlisle relaxed a bit as it looked to them as though Sherlock was speaking about _me_. I _hoped_ he meant that comment for me as well.

"And uncomprehending in the face of the happy." Now he turned toward John and Mary. "So if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody's best friend." The crowd had gone silent. Molly and Lestrade exchanged glances that said they had never realized this about Sherlock.

"And certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have _ever_ had the good fortune of knowing." Several people looked touched at this.

"John, I am a ridiculous man," Sherlock said half to John and half to the crowd. "Redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But as I am, apparently, your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion." He paused and thought for a moment.

"Actually, now I can," he decided. "Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the _highest_ compliment of which I am capable." He paused again.

"John, you have endured war and injury and tragic loss. So sorry again about that last one. So know this. Today you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved. In short, the two people who love you most in all this world. And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say we will never let you down and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that." Many people were crying now. Mrs. Hudson was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. My own eyes were swimming with tears and I quickly dabbed them away. Sherlock was shuffling through his cards again, oblivious to the scene in front of him.

"Ah, yes," he said. "Now onto some funny stories about John…" He trailed off, seeming to have finally noticed all the crying going on.

"What's wrong?" he demanded. "What happened? Why are you all doing that?" Molly smiled affectionately at his confusion.

"John?" Sherlock asked, clearly looking for clarification. "Did I do it wrong?"

"No, you didn't," John said gruffly. "Come here." John stood and threw his arms around Sherlock. The crowd began applauding. Sherlock tried to continue his speech but John had him wait until he had returned to his seat.

"So onto some funny stories about John," Sherlock started again but people were still sniffling. "If you could all just cheer up a bit that would…be better." People started laughing again.

"On we go," Sherlock continued. "So for funny stories, one has to look no further than John's blog. The record of our time together." He paused for a second.

"Of course he does tend to romanticize things a bit but then, you know, he's a _romantic_."

"At least one of you is," I muttered.

"We've tackled some _strange_ cases," Sherlock said. "The Hollow Client." That was when we came home from John and Sherlock's suit fittings for the wedding and found a man's suit on John's chair. The man had emailed earlier saying that he thought he was literally invisible at times. Sherlock had several crazy ideas over how this could be done. One was a complex set of mirrors, one was invisible paint, and one was that ninjas had drugged us and taken us to an exact replica of 221B and the suit was a hologram. It wasn't. The guy and his mate were just winding us up for the fun of it.

"The Poison Giant," Sherlock listed. We'd nearly died on that one. Two jewel thieves had been recruited to kill the three of us. The reason the case was called 'The Poison Giant' was because one of the men was huge, like the kind of guy who could have snapped us in half with his bare hands and the other was...well…a person of _short stature_. And _he_ shot people with poison darts.

"We've had some frustrating cases," Sherlock admitted. He meant the Inexplicable Matchbox. We weren't not allowed to talk about that one. Mycroft's orders.

"Touching cases." It was only touching because of Sherlock's behavior. The woman who had come to us for help was having an affair, something Sherlock would have dismissed usually, but she was different. She was gay and had been blackmailed into marrying her husband. He threatened to tell her family about her being gay if she didn't marry him. We'd broken into his office, gotten the pictures he had taken to prove she was having an affair with a woman, and given them back to her. Sherlock had told her to tell her family the truth, even if they disowned her because then she could be with the woman she loved. Everything worked out in the end. She got her divorce and her family stuck by her through it all.

"And of course, I have to mention the Elephant in the Room." That was literally _all_ he could do. That one involved two dead bodies and an actual elephant in the middle of room but we weren't not allowed to talk about that one either.

"But we want something very particular for this special day, don't we?" Sherlock pointed out. "The Bloody Guardsman."

* * *

Several Weeks Ago

"Need to work on you half of the church, Mary," Sherlock said turning away from the mess of guest lists and seating charts pinned to the wall over the sofa. "Looking a bit thin."

"Oh," she sighed somewhat sadly. "Orphan's lot. Friends, that's all I have. Lots of friends."

"You should have the organ music to begin at precisely 11:48…" he began rapidly, changing the subject of the entire conversation for seating charts to the ceremony. He'd done that several times already. It was like he couldn't focus on any one thing for too long. It made trying to _stay_ focused incredibly difficult.

"But the rehearsal's not for another two weeks," Mary stopped him. "Just calm down."

"Calm?" he questioned. "I am calm. I'm _extremely_ calm." Mary and I exchanged glances.

"Let's get back to the reception," she said. "Come on." She and I were looking over a diorama of the reception hall as well as a poster board with all the tables and guests.

"John's cousin, top table?" she asked Sherlock.

"Mmm, hates you," he informed her. "Can't even bear to think about you."

"Seriously?" Mary asked looking shocked. I'd never met John's cousin but I couldn't imagine someone _not_ liking Mary. She was wonderful.

"Second-class post," Sherlock explained. "Cheap card." He sniffed the card.

"Bought at a petrol station," he continued. "Look at the stamp. "Thee attempts at licking. She's obviously unconsciously retaining saliva." Mary and I exchanged glances again.

"Aw, let's stick her by the bogs," Mary decided cheerily.

"Oh, yes," Sherlock and I agreed. Sherlock sat down at the table. Mary cleared her throat, glanced over her shoulder at John, and cleared her throat again.

"Who else hates me?" she asked quietly. Sherlock handed her a list.

"Oh, great," she said as she and I looked it over. "Thanks."

"I don't get why anyone would hate you," I said as I took a seat on her other side. "They're off their rocker."

"Thank you, Rei," she said giving me a smile. "I think so too."

"Priceless painting nicked," John read off of his mobile. "Looks interesting." He was reading emails trying to find us a case.

"Table four?" Mary asked Sherlock.

"Done," he answered. John chuckled.

"My husband is three people?" he read off.

"Table five?" Mary asked.

"Major James Sholto," Sherlock read off one of the cards. "Who's he?"

"Oh, John's old commanding officer," Mary told him. "I don't think he's coming."

"He'll be there," John spoke up. Mary turned to him looking annoyed.

"Well he needs to RSVP then," she reminded him.

"He'll be there," John insisted before going back to reading off of his mobile. "My husband is three people. It's interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of _moles_ on his skin."

"Identical triplets, one in a half million births," Sherlock rattled off. "Solved it without leaving the flat." He got up from the table and sat on the floor.

"You always say it's never twins!" I complained. He gave me his 'don't-be-stupid' look.

"It's not _twins_ ," he agreed. "It's triplets."

"So it's the _less_ likely option?" I demanded.

"In this case, yes." He shrugged. "Now, serviettes. Swan or Sydney Opera House?" He pulled a tray out from under the coffee table and showed off two different cloth napkins, one folded in the shape of a swan and the other in the shape of the Sydney Opera House.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Mary asked giving the serviettes a surprised smile.

"Many unexpected skills are required in the field of criminal investigation," he responded.

"Fibbing, Sherlock," Mary scolded him lightly.

"I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the exact severity of…" he tried again.

"I'm not John," she reminded him. "I can tell when you're fibbing." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

" _Okay_ ," he sighed. "I learnt it on YouTube."

"Opera House please," she decided. "Oh, hang on. I'm buzzing." She fished her mobile out of her pocket.

"Hello?" she asked. "Oh! Hi Beth!" Smiling widely, she headed into the other room. John put down his mobile.

"Actually, if that's Beth, it's probably for me too," John said getting up from his chair. "Hang on." He followed Mary out of the room.

' _Must be a signal that she wants to talk to him alone,_ ' I worked out. Sherlock seemed not to notice it. I sat down beside Sherlock who was folding more serviettes in the style that Mary had chosen.

"You okay?" I questioned as I began helping him.

"Fine," he answered. "Why wouldn't I be?" He readjusted a serviette that I had just folded.

"He's not going anywhere," I pointed out. "He's been _trying_ to find a case for you to go on but you're ignoring him."

"I'm the Best Man," he retorted. "It's my job to help them plan their wedding."

"Sherlock, you looked up serviettes on _YouTube_." Before he could reply there was a noise from behind us. I turned to see John stumble into the living room. His eyes widened in surprise at the number of serviettes we now had in front of us.

"That just sort of happened," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, um…" John said coming closer to us which caused Sherlock to jump to his feet. "Mate. I—I've…" He paused and sighed. The three of us sat down at the table.

"I've smelled _eighteen_ different perfumes," he informed us. "I've sampled _nine_ different slices of cake which all taste identical. I _like_ the bridesmaids in purple."

"Lilac," Sherlock corrected him.

" _Lilac_ ," John amended. "Um, there are no more decisions left to make. I don't even understand the decision that we _have_ made. _I'm faking opinions_ and it's exhausting. So please, before she comes back…" He glanced back toward the kitchen and cleared his throat, holding his mobile out to Sherlock.

"Pick something." Sherlock's eyes darted back and forth from the mobile to John's face.

" _Anything_ ," John begged. "Pick one."

"Pick what?" Sherlock asked softly, almost under his breath.

"A _case_ ," John laughed. "You're inbox is bursting. Just…get me out of here." Mary's voice rose from the other room, whatever she was pretending to do she had apparently decided to have a fake argument. I nudged Sherlock with my elbow, encouraging him to take John's mobile. Sherlock knocked my elbow away with his own and leaned toward John.

"You want to go out on a _case_?" he demanded. " _Now_?"

"Please," John said firmly. "Sherlock, for me." I saw the look in Sherlock's eyes. He had taken the bait. He nodded and took John's mobile.

"Don't you worry about a thing, he whispered loudly. "I'll get you out of this." He had only clicked through a few emails before he stopped.

" _Oh_ ," he said looking up with a concerned frown. I leaned over his shoulder to read the email.

 _Dear Mr. Holmes,_

 _My name is Bainbridge. I'm a private in Her Majesty's Household Guard. I'm writing to you about a personal matter, one I don't care to bring before my superiors, it would sound so trivial. But I think someone's stalking me. I'm used to tourists, it's part of the job. But this is different. Someone's watching me. He's taking pictures of me every day. I don't want to mention it to the manager but it's really preying on my mind._

' _Could be interesting,_ ' I noted to myself.

"Uniform fetishist," Sherlock suggested. "All the nice girls like a soldier."

"It's _sailor_ ," John corrected him.

"I always preferred soldiers," I replied.

"And Bainbridge thinks his stalker is a bloke," John added. "Let's go and investigate. Please?"

"Elite guard," Sherlock mused.

"Forty enlisted men and officers," John concurred.

"Why this _particular_ grenadier?" Sherlock questioned. "Curious."

"Maybe someone _really_ likes him," I suggested. "You know, in the 'I-have-a-shrine-devoted-to-you-with-your-hair-on-it' sort of way."

"Now you're talkin'," John said although I wasn't sure if he was speaking to me or to Sherlock.

"Okay," Sherlock agreed handing the mobile back to John. He turned to me.

"You prefer soldiers?" he questioned.

"Oh—well—" I blushed. "Yes?" Sherlock tilted his head like this idea was puzzling. I rolled my eyes at him.

"I never pegged you for that kind of girl," he said.

"Yes, well, I prefer men in _suits_ over men in uniform," I responded, poking him in the chest. "Which is partly why I love _you_ so much." That made him chuckle.

"Bye," Mary said as she came into the room just as we were getting to our feet. She must have finished with her "phone call".

"Uh…we're just going to…" John stammered. "I need…um…Sherlock to help me choose some…uh…"

"Tie," Sherlock finished.

"Socks," John said at the same time. Mary seemed to get what was going on.

"Why don't we go with socks?" she suggested.

"Yeah," John agreed.

"I mean, you've got to get the right ones," she went on. John nodded.

"Exactly," he concurred. "To go with my…"

"Tie," Sherlock repeated.

"Outfit," John said. Mary sighed.

"Well, it'll take a while, right?" she guessed.

"My coat in there?" John asked.

"Yes." He slipped past her and into the kitchen. Mary stepped further into the room and Sherlock moved so that he could speak to her with his back to the kitchen.

"Just gonna—take him out for a bit," Sherlock whispered loudly to her. "Run him."

"I know." She smiled and when she caught my eye I noticed that it was a very pleased smile. So _that's_ why John had been so insistent. Sherlock had to think that John was desperate so that he'd go without a fuss.

"You said you'd find him a case," she reminded him. Sherlock smiled back at her.

"Coming, Sherlock?" John asked.

"Coming," he replied.

"Should I stay here?" I asked. "You know, help Mary finish up?"

"If you'd like," Sherlock answered. I knew how much he needed to spend time with John.

"You boys have fun," I decided. "You can fill me in later." Sherlock smiled gratefully and kissed the side of my head.

"See you later," he said quietly.

"Love you!" I called as he and John headed down the stairs.

"Love you, too!" he called back. When they were gone I turned to Mary. She was straightening things on the table.

"What can I do?" I asked. Mary straightened up, looked over all the wedding stuff, and sighed.

"You can come with me to get something to eat," she said. "I need a break from all this. A glass of wine wouldn't hurt either." I smiled and ran to grab my coat.

* * *

Mary and I had a lovely time on our outing. I hadn't realized how much I missed having another woman to talk to until I was with her. When we'd returned to the flat Sherlock had filled me in on the case. Private Bainbridge had been stabbed and nearly died. Luckily, John had been there to keep him stable until an ambulance could come. Sherlock had no idea how Private Bainbridge had been stabbed as the grenadier had had no idea that he'd been wounded and the wound itself wasn't very large.

"Scarf's ruined," he muttered as he tossed it into the rubbish bin. "All that blood, it'll never come out." I walked into our room and grabbed a box from the back shelf. Inside were several scarves, all exactly the same as the one he'd thrown away.

"Here," I said as I came back into the kitchen.

"What's this?" he asked taking it and examining it carefully.

"Replacement scarf." I smiled up at him. "I've got a box of them. After we had to replace mine I figured it couldn't hurt." Sherlock smirked, clearly pleased with me.

"Did I tell you he called me _nurse_?" he asked. I couldn't help but laugh at that.

* * *

The Wedding

"Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty," Sherlock explained to the guests. "He'd stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within _minutes_ was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach but there was no weapon. Where did it go?" I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.

' _This is a_ _ **best man speech**_ _, Sherlock! You're supposed to talk about_ _ **John**_ _not a bloody_ _ **case**_ _!'_

"Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to consider this," he continued. "A murderer who can walk through walls. A weapon that can vanish. But in all of this there is only _one_ element which can be said to be truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess?" No one raised their hand. The guests shifted restlessly, coughing and exchanging glances.

"Come on, come on," Sherlock encouraged them. "There is actually an element of Q&A to all of this." He cleared this throat and waited again.

" _Scotland Yard_ ," he said looking over at Lestrade. "Have _you_ got a theory?" Lestrade looked up with an expression somewhere in realm of surprise and confusion with a little bit of annoyance mixed in.

"Yeah, you," Sherlock said. "You're a detective, broadly speaking. Got a theory?" Lestrade crossed his arms over his chest.

"Er, um…" he stammered. "If the uh…if—if the—if the blade was propelled through the—um—grating in the air vent…maybe a bastille or—or—or a catapult—um—somebody tiny could—could crawl in there." He drew in a sharp breath.

"So yeah, we're—we're looking for a—a—a—dwarf," he finished. Sherlock was silent for a moment.

"Brilliant," he said flatly.

"Really?" Lestrade looked excited about possibly being right.

"No." Sherlock shook his head. "Next!" Lestrade rolled his eyes. Tom leaned toward Lestrade and whispered something. That sounded like 'he stabbed himself'.

"Hello, who was that?" Sherlock questioned before zeroing in on Molly's fiancé. " _Tom_." Tom slowly got to his feet causing his chair to creak and scrape loudly against the floor.

"Got a theory?" Sherlock asked him.

"Um…attempted suicide with a blade made of _compacted blood and bone_ ," he explained. "Broke after piercing his abdomen, like a meat…dagger."

"A _meat dagger_?" Sherlock repeated.

"Yes," Tom said. Several guests were chuckling. Molly looked like she wanted to strangle him. She hissed something at him and he sat back down.

" _No_ ," Sherlock told him before moving on. "There was one feature and only one feature of interest in the whole of this baffling case and quite frankly it was the usual. _John Watson_. Who, while I was trying to solve the murder, instead saved a life. There _are_ mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling. The best and bravest man I know and on top of that he actually knows how to do stuff." John started laughing at that.

"Except wedding planning and serviettes," Sherlock added. "He's rubbish at those." This got everyone else laughing.

"The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly planned murder or _attempted_ murder I've ever had the pleasure to encounter. The most perfect locked-room mystery of which I am aware. However, I'm not just here to praise John, I'm also here to embarrass him, so let's move on to some…"

"No, wait," Lestrade interrupted. "So how was it done?"

"How was what done?" Sherlock asked.

"The _stabbing_." Sherlock was quiet for a moment.

"I'm afraid I don't know," he admitted at last. "I didn't solve that one, that's…It can happen sometimes. It's very…Very disappointing." He took a deep breath and went on with his speech.

"Embarrassment leads me on to the _stag night_. Of course there's hours of material here, but I've cut it down to the really good bits."


	28. The Sign of Three Part 3

Chapter 28: The Sign of Three Part 3: The Mayfly Man

The Day After the Stag Night

When we returned to the flat John went in to see Mrs. Hudson while I followed Sherlock upstairs.

"Drink this," I ordered as I brought a glass of water with an Alka-Seltzer tablet in it over to him. He was sitting at his laptop with two windows pulled up. One was a chat room for women who believed that they had dated ghosts and one was an article about Major Sholto.

"Stop over thinking things," I said eyeing the article. "You don't need to cyber stalk the man."

"Just want to be prepared," Sherlock sniped.

"He probably won't even be there," I reminded him. "Tell me about this ghost date thing." The sound of John's footsteps came from the stairwell and Sherlock quickly switched to the chat room window.

"There are going to be others," Sherlock said to both of us.

"Others?" John questioned.

"Victims," Sherlock answered. "Women." He drew in a breath.

"Most ghosts tend to haunt a single house," he explained. "This ghost, however, is willing to commute. Look." A map sat on the table with thumbtacks in several different points.

"Just to be clear," I said. "You don't _actually_ think this was a ghost, right?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow and gave me _that look_.

"Right, of course you don't," I muttered. "Silly me." I went to straighten up the kitchen and when I came back, about half an hour later, Sherlock had six laptops spread out on the floor and a seventh on the table.

"What in the…?" I questioned under my breath. A plate of food sat untouched by one of the laptops. John came in from the hallway and blinked at Sherlock.

"You okay?" he asked. Sherlock turned to us and John looked down at the plate.

"Let your food go cold," he scolded. "Mrs. Hudson'll play hell." Sherlock scoffed and sat down in front of the laptops.

"Not now John." He started typing furious at the different laptops.

"What's he doing?" John asked. I glanced over the various screen.

"Chat rooms," I answered. "All the women who have dated the same "ghost"."

"He's stealing the identity of corpses," Sherlock explained as he continued to jump from one laptop to the next. "Getting their names from the obituary columns. All single men. He's using the dead man's flat under the assumption it'll be empty for a while. Free love nest."

"Ew," I commented. One of the other laptops pinged and Sherlock jumped over to it.

"No one wants to use a dead man's home," he continued. "At least not until it's been cleared, so he disguises himself, steals the man's home, steals his identity."

"But only for one night," John put in causing Sherlock to turn back to us. "And he's gone."

"He's not a _ghost_ , John," Sherlock said. "He's a mayfly. He lives for a day." I moved over to him and hovered over his shoulder so that I could read the different conversations. Sherlock asked them about their jobs, which were all different. He checked their employer, again, all different. None of them had the same ideal night out or used the same makeup. All of them used the same perfume except for one so that couldn't be it. None of them had the same idea of an ideal man either.

"There's a unifying factor," Sherlock muttered. "There has to be." I went over their jobs again. Security guard, gardener, cook, maid… _private nurse_. This was pecking order.

"Sherlock—" I began.

"I know." He asked them all if they had a secret that they'd never told anyone. Immediately they all answered no.

"Gotcha." Sherlock grinned widely.

"What'd you mean?" John asked.

"Everyone has secrets and they all replied too quickly." The five laptops began pinging as the women signed off. One of them called Sherlock sexy. Tessa told him to enjoy the wedding.

"Why?" he fumed slamming his current laptop shut and standing up. " _Why_ would he date all of those women and not return their calls?"

"You're missing the obvious, mate," John pointed out.

"Am I?" Sherlock asked. I nodded in agreement.

"He's a man," John and I answered.

"Why would he change his identity," Sherlock muttered as he began closing all of the laptops.

"Maybe he's married," John suggested. Sherlock straightened up.

"Oh," he realized.

* * *

The Wedding

"Married," Sherlock told the crowd. "Obvious, really. Our Mayfly Man was trying to escape the suffocating chains of domesticity and instead of endless nights in watching the telly or going to barbeques with the awful, dreadful, boring people he couldn't stand, he used his wits, cleverness, and powers of disguise to play the field. He was…" He stopped himself from finishing that sentence. He looked to John and Mary and then to me. I pursed my lips and shook my head. He had better backtrack soon.

"On second thought, I _probably_ should have told you about the Elephant in the Room," he decided even though he knew that wasn't possible. "However, it does help to further illustrate how _invaluable_ John is to me. I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being." Not that I couldn't, of course. However, I disliked people, I disliked most social engagements, and so I wasn't as helpful to Sherlock as John was in that regard. It was like I was in the middle of spectrum with John and Sherlock at the two extremes. John understood people but very little about brainwork. Sherlock understood brainwork but very little about people. I understood enough of both to not put people off but was clever enough that Sherlock didn't find me tiresome.

"I used to think that's what made me special," Sherlock said. "Quite frankly, I still do. But a word to the wise. Should _any of you_ require the services of either of us, _I_ will solve your murder but it takes _John Watson_ to save your life. Trust me on that. I should know. He's saved mine so many times and in so many ways." He looked to John before taking a deep breath and going on.

"This blog," he held up his mobile which was clenched in his fist. "Is the story of two men and their frankly ridiculous adventures." That got everyone chuckling.

"Of murder, mystery, and mayhem. But from now on, there's a new story. A bigger adventure." I could hear the defeat in his voice. He truly believed that he was losing John. I wanted to get up and hug him. I wanted to show him how untrue that was. It would have to wait. There would be time for that after the wedding.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Sherlock said picking up his champagne flute as everyone rose to their feet and held up their own flutes. "Pray charge your glasses and be upstanding. Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson. The two reasons why every single one of us is…" He stopped. The photographer began taking pictures but Sherlock didn't go on. I looked around Janine and saw him staring straight at the camera.

' _What's going on?_ ' I wondered suddenly on edge. ' _Why's he gone into his mind palace?_ ' The champagne flute slipped from his fingers.

"Here today." The glass shattered against the floor and Sherlock looked down at it. I had the feeling that he wasn't finishing his sentence about John and Mary.

' _The Mayfly Man is here!_ ' I realized.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "I…" He looked down and cleared his throat. He began shuffling and cleared his throat again. A waiter came hurrying over.

"Another glass sir?" he asked.

"Thank you, yes," Sherlock said quickly taking the offered flute. "Thank you, yes." He paused and scanned the crowd.

"Now, where were we?" he asked after a minute before pausing again. The guests were looking around in confusion. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Lestrade looked from me to Sherlock, the worried looks from earlier returning.

' _Is he_ _ **high**_ _!?_ ' I wondered. ' _I swear, if he's high…_ '

"Ah, yes, raising glasses and standing up," Sherlock remembered. "Very good, thank you." Another pause as he seemed to consider something.

"And down again," he instructed. Everyone slowly sank back into their seats, murmuring with annoyance and confusion. Sherlock set down his champagne and stepped backwards.

"Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech," he said. "Get off early, leave them laughing. Wise advice I'll certainly try to bear in mind but for now…" He vaulted over the table

"Part two! Part two is more _action based_. I'm gonna walk around, shake things up a bit." I scanned the guests, looking for the one that was acting suspiciously.

"Who'd go to a wedding?" Sherlock wondered as he walked past the guests tables. "That's the question. Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding?" He wasn't criticizing weddings (not this time anyway) he was scanning the crowd just like I was.

"Well, everyone." He turned back to the high table and clapped his hands together. "Weddings are _great_. Love a wedding.

"What's he doing?" Mary asked.

"Something's wrong," John replied. Sherlock suddenly pointed to John and started back over to us.

"And John's great, too," he said loudly. "Haven't said that enough, barely scratched the surface. I could go on _all night_ about the depth and complexity of his…jumpers."

" _Jumpers_ ," a woman repeated incredulously.

"And he can cook…does a _thing_ …thing with peas…once." He was turning around and around, scanning the crowd.

"Might not be peas," Sherlock amended quickly. "Might not be him. But he's got a great singing voice or somebody does…" He was high out of his mind. I was sure of it. He was always… _energetic_ on cases but this was over the top.

"Too many, too many, too many, too many!" Sherlock shouted turning in frantic circles. He stopped and reigned in his emotions.

"Sorry, too many jokes about John," he apologized. "Now, uh…" He trailed off and spaced out for a moment.

"Where was I?" he questioned. "Ah, yes. Speech! Speech. Let's talk about… _murder_."

' _Oh. No._ '

"Sorry, did I say 'murder'? I meant to say 'marriage'."

' _Sure you did._ '

"But, you know, they're…" he drew in a deep breath. "Quite similar procedures, when you think about it, the participants tend to know each other and when it's over one of them is _dead_. In fairness, murder is a lot quicker, though." I put my head in my hands. This was not happening. It wasn't. _I_ was high, that was it.

"Janine!" Sherlock called. "What about this one? Acceptably hot? More importantly, his girlfriend's wearing brand-new uncomfortable underwear and hasn't bother to pick _this thread_ off of the top of his jacket or point out the grease smudge on the back of his neck. Currently, he's going home alone. Also, a comics and sci-fi geek, they're always tremendously grateful when you put the hours in." He had one arm behind his back. He was texting. Who was he texting!?

"Jeff, the gents," Sherlock said with a tight, somewhat crazed smile. When no one responded he looked over at Lestrade.

"The loos, now, please," Sherlock insisted.

" _Greg_ ," Lestrade snapped.

"The loos, please," Sherlock repeated. Lestrade's mobile beeped.

"Why?" he asked as he fished it out of the pocket of his trousers.

"Oh, I don't know," Sherlock answered through gritted teeth. "Maybe it's _your turn_." He jerked his head toward the men's room. Lestrade checked his phone and got to his feet.

"Yeah, actually…" he agreed. "Now you mention it…" Sherlock started pacing.

"Sherlock, any chance of a—an _end date_ for this speech?" John called. "Gotta cut the cake." Sherlock whipped back around and pointed to John, doing a little hop forward as he did.

"Oh! Ladies and gentlemen," he said somewhat dancing back toward the high table. "Can't stand it when I finally get the chance to speak, for once Vatican Cameos." He slipped the code word right into his sentence which meant that it made _no sense_ to anyone who didn't know what it was. _Someone was going to die_.

Sherlock was pacing up and down the room, shaking his head.

"No!" he shouted suddenly slapping himself across the face. "No! Not you! _Not you_! _You_." He pointed straight at John.

"It's always you," he said still pointing to John as he moved back toward us. "John Watson, you keep me right." John stood as Sherlock reached the high table.

"What'd I do?" he asked quietly.

"You've already done it," Sherlock answered just as quietly. "Don't solve the murder, save the life." He inhaled deeply and turned back to the guests with a forced smile on his face.

"Sorry," he said to them making wide gestures with his hands. "Off-piste a bit, back now, _phew_!" He clapped his hands together.

"Let's play a game," he suggested. "Let's play _Murder_." He stalked forward taking on the appearance of a cat stalking its prey.

" _Sherlock_!" Mrs. Hudson scolded as John took his seat.

"Imagine someone's going to get _murdered_ at a wedding," he instructed the crowd, ignoring our landlady. "Who exactly would you pick?"

"I think _you're_ a popular choice at the moment, dear," she sniped.

"If someone could move Mrs. Hudson's glass just slightly out of reach, that would be lovely," Sherlock sniped back. He was walking toward the back of the room now. I scanned the room intently, trying to see what he was looking for. I had no idea who the target was.

"More importantly, who could you _only_ kill at a wedding?" he went on. 'Target?' appeared above the heads of everyone in the room but none of them really seemed obvious to me.

"Most people you can kill any old place," Sherlock pointed out. "As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues."

' _Yes that's_ _ **just**_ _the thing to say in front of_ _ **my family**_ _! As if they won't have reason enough to want to kill_ _ **you**_ _after today!_ '

"Now, _John_ I'd poison," Sherlock explained rapidly as he moved back toward us. "Sloppy eater, dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds that way, he's never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue.

" _Lestrade's_ so easy to kill, it's a miracle no one's succumbed to the temptation." He was walking away again. "I've got a pair of key's to my brother's house, I could easily break in there and _asphyxiate_ him…if—if the whim arose." Clearly, it had given the level of venom in that statement.

" _Reilen_ , on the other hand." I tensed and avoided looking toward my family. "Has learned not to trust any food or beverage that I've given her without her having watched me make them. And asphyxiation would leave quite an unsightly bruise on her neck so I'd like to avoid that. However, if I were to put a toxin into say—a bottle of perfume—her death would be quick and best of all, Scotland Yard would never think to look for a _bottle of perfume_ as the murder weapon."

"He's pissed, isn't he?" Tom asked. Without looking at him, Molly stabbed the back of his hand with her fork.

" _Ow_!" he cried out.

"So, once again," Sherlock said. " _Who could you only kill here_? Clearly, it's a rare opportunity, so it's someone who doesn't get out much." The number of potential targets dropped significantly. He moved around the room, looking around him as he spoke.

"Someone for whom a planned social encounter known about months in advance is an exception." The number of targets dropped again. He turned his back to most of the guests. As he went on I started to see less and less targets.

"Has to be a unique opportunity." Sherlock paused before turning back to the guests. "And since killing someone in public is difficult, killing them in private isn't an option. Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location, then." He was pacing again. I could only see one target left.

"Someone private, perhaps," Sherlock went on. "Obsessed with personal security…" He paused and turned back around.

"Possibly someone under threat." _Major James Sholto_. Mary hadn't thought he would come. He lived in the middle of nowhere and John said he got more death threats than Sherlock.

Major Sholto looked at Sherlock before quickly looking away. Sherlock turned back to the guests and quickly unbuttoned his morning coat. He pulled out the pen attached to chain from his waistcoat and a piece of paper from his pocket.

"Oh, a recluse?" he suggested. "Small household staff." _A gardener, cook, private nurse, and a maid_.

"High turnover for additional security." Sherlock was writing something. _And a security guard_. Those were the jobs of the women that the Mayfly Man had dated. Sherlock moved over to Major Sholto.

"Probably all signed confidentiality agreements," Sherlock noted as he dropped the note onto the table.

' _All the women had said that they didn't have a secret._ _ **Everyone**_ _has scerets._ '

"There's another questions that remains, however, rather a big one, a _huge_ one." Sherlock was heading back to the front of the room. "How would you do it? How do you kill someone in public? There has to be a way. This has been planned."

"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes!" Archie cried jumping to his feet.

"Oh, hello again, Archie." Sherlock turned to the young boy. "What's your theory? Get this right and there's a headless nun in it for you."

' _Oh lovely, let's bribe him with crime scene photos_ _ **in front of his mother**_ _!_ '

"The invisible man could do it," Archie answered.

"The who, the what, the when, the why, the where?" Sherlock questioned so quickly that all of the words streamed together.

"The invisible man with the invisible knife," Archie reminded him. "The one who tried to kill the guardsman." Sherlock straightened up and went completely still. I suddnely thought about the similarities between the case and wedding planning. I kept coming back to the word _rehearsal_. That's what Private Bainbridge's stabbing had been. _A trial run_.

Major Sholto stood up and began walking out of the room. Sherlock murmured something to himself before turning and watching Major Sholto leave the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said as he came back to the high table. "There will now be a short interlude. To the bride and groom!" He grabbed his forgotten champagne flute and raised it in front of him. Everyone stood and raised their own flutes.

"To the bride and groom," they called out at different times seeming unsure if this was an actual toast or not. Sherlock whirled around to face the table.

"Major Sholto's going to be murdered," he said to us. "I don't know how or by whom but it's going to happen." With that he started off through the crowd.

"Excuse me," he called out. "Coming through, consulting." I scrambled to my feet and ran after him. John caught up with us in the hall outside.

"It's the Mayfly Man," I explained. "He was the one who stabbed Private Bainbridge. He dated all those women because they worked for Major Sholto and he needed to know his schedule, so he'd know when to attack him."

"We have to get to his room," Sherlock said. But we ended up stuck on the stairs. I had no idea what room he was in and it seemed that John and Sherlock didn't either.

" _How_ can you not remember which room?" John demanded as he paced on the steps while Sherlock and I searched our mind palaces. "You remember _everything_!"

"I have to delete something!" Sherlock snapped.

"207!" Mary cried as she came running up the stairs and past the three of us. We took off after her, Sherlock rushing ahead of all of us. He reached the room first and knocked on the door.

"Major Sholto!?" he cried rattling the doorknob. "Major Sholto!" He tried the doorknob again but it was clearly locked. Sherlock slammed his palm repeatedly against the door.

" _Major Sholto_!" he shouted.

"If someone's about to make an attempt on my life it won't be the first time," the Major's voice called back. "I'm ready." John came forward and Sherlock backed off, looking at his hand like it was hurting him. Apparently, he'd hit the door harder than he'd intended.

"Major, let us in!" John ordered.

"Kick the door down," Mary said.

"I really wouldn't," the Major advised. "I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes." Sherlock moved forward again.

"You're not safe in there," he said. "Whoever's after you, we know that a locked room doesn't stop him."

"The invisible man with the invisible knife?" Major Sholto replied skeptically.

"I don't know how he does it so I can't stop him," Sherlock said quickly. "And that means he'll do it again."

"Solve it, then," Major Sholto commanded.

"I…I'm sorry?" Sherlock didn't know _how_ to solve it. That was the whole point.

"You're the famous Mr. Holmes," Major Sholto pointed out. "Solve the case, on you go. Tell me how he did it and I'll open the door."

"Please, this is _no time_ for games," John pleaded. "Just let us in, you're in danger!"

"So are you, so long as you're here. _Please_ , leave me. Despite my reputation, I _really_ don't approve of collateral damage." Sherlock started pacing back and forth across the hallway.

"Solve it," Mary said to Sherlock.

"Sorry?" he asked quietly. He looked terrified, like he had in the train car before he shut off the bomb.

"Solve it and he'll open the door, like he said," she reasoned.

"I couldn't solve it before," Sherlock snapped. "How can I solve it now?"

"Because it _matters_ now!" she insisted.

"What're you talking about?" he demanded turning to John. "What's she talking about? Get your wife under control." He turned his back on us. I wondered if I was the only one who had noticed how his voice was shaking.

"She's _right_ ," John said firmly.

"Oh, _you've_ changed," Sherlock scoffed.

"No, she _is_. Shut up. You are _not_ a puzzle solver, you never have been. You're a _drama queen_. Now, there is a man in there about to die, _the game is on_ , **_solve it_**!" Sherlock zoned out immediately. I let myself sink into my own mind palace.

 _Private Bainbridge had been in his guard uniform._

 _Major Sholto was in_ _ **his**_ _uniform._

 _Both uniforms had tight belts around the abdomen._

 _Private Bainbridge had been stabbed with something thin and small…_ I remembered a waiter pulled a metal skewer out of the roast beef.

 _Private Bainbridge had unbuckled his belt and…_

 _The skewer came out of the meat and blood began flowing…_

 _Private Bainbridge collapsed in the shower, bleeding to death._

Sherlock and I snapped out of our mind places together. Sherlock drew in a breath and grabbed Mary on either side of her face. He kissed her quickly on the forehead.

"Though, in fairness, _he's_ a drama queen too," he pointed out motioning to John.

"Yeah, I know," she agreed. Sherlock went back to the door.

"Major Sholto, no one's coming to kill you," he called. "I've afraid you've already been killed several hours ago." There was silence for a moment.

"What did you say?" he demanded.

" _Don't take off your belt_!" Sherlock commanded.

"My _belt_?" the Major called back. Sherlock sighed and turned to John and Mary.

"He's belt, yes," he explained. "Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we even saw him, but it was through his belt. _Tight belt_ , worn high on the waist. Very easy to push a small blade _through_ the fabric, and you wouldn't even feel it."

"The—the belt would bind the flesh together," John reasoned. "When it was tight."

"Exactly," Sherlock agreed.

"And when you took it off…" John trailed off.

"Delayed action stabbing," Sherlock and I finished. I was extremely glad that Sherlock didn't add his usual 'neat' to that.

"All the time in the world to create an alibi," Sherlock added. "Major Sholto!" He rattled the doorknob again.

"So…" he replied. "I was to be _killed by my uniform_. How appropriate."  
"He solved the case, Major," Mary called to him. "You're supposed to open the door now. A deal is a deal."

"I'm not even supposed to have this anymore," he informed us. "They gave me special dispensation to keep it." John, Sherlock, and I exchanged uneasy glances.

"I couldn't imagine life out of this uniform," the Major went on. "I suppose, given the circumstance, I don't have to. When so many want you dead it hardly seems good manners to argue."

"Whatever you're doing in there, James, _stop it right now_!" John shouted through the door. " _I will kick this door down_!"

"Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar, I think," Major Sholto called to Sherlock.

"Yes, I think we are," Sherlock concurred.

"There's a proper time to die, isn't there?"

"Of course there is."  
"And one should _embrace it_ when it comes." Major Sholto paused. "Like a soldier."

"Of course one should but not at _John's wedding_!" Sherlock shouted firmly. "We wouldn't do that, would we, you and me? We would _never_ do that to _John Watson_." There was nothing but silence in response. Sherlock stepped away from the door and John leaned closer, listening. When there was still no sound he shook his head and took off his morning coat.

"I'm gonna break it down," he decided.

"Wait, wait, wait," Mary said quickly. "You won't have to."

"Hmm?" John paused and in that moment the door opened. Major Sholto looked at all of us for a moment.

"I believe I am in need of medical attention," he said.

"I believe I'm your doctor," John replied tossing down his coat and striding into the room. Mary followed after them right way but Sherlock paused for a moment, seeming to gather himself before he and I went in.

"Good job," I praised him quietly. " _Brilliant_." He offered me a small smile.

* * *

After Major Sholto had been taken care of it was time to for the part that everyone was looking forward to. It was time to dance! Sherlock pulled me aside.

"I have to rehearse with her," he said. "She's absolutely terrible." He and Janine would be dancing together because of their roles as Best Man and Chief Bridesmaid. Another reason to be annoyed that I _wasn't_ Chief Bridesmaid. With that he headed off with Janine.

"Where's Sherlock?" John asked about fifteen minutes later. "The party's about to start and he's supposed to play my first dance with Mary."

"He's with Janine," I answered. "Practicing _their_ dance. C'mon." We headed off in search of them and found them in one of the back rooms.

"Well!" John said as we walked over to them. "Glad to see you've pulled, Sherlock, what with murders running riot at my wedding." He clapped Sherlock on the back.

" _One_ murder…one _nearly_ murder," he corrected John. "He loves to exaggerate. You should try living with him." This was directed at Janine. I used most of my self-control to quash my jealousy.

"Sherlock," Lestrade said coming in from the door that led to the main hall. "Got him for you."

"Ah!" Sherlock clapped his hands together and slowly strolled over to the young man who came in after Lestrade. "The photographer, _excellent_. Thank you. Um—my I have a look at your camera?"

"Uh—what's this about?" the man wondered. "I was halfway home." He handed his camera over to Sherlock who began looking through the pictures.

"You should have driven faster," he replied holding up the camera and grinning. "Ah, yes. _Yes_! Very good! There, you see? _Perfect_!" I moved to stand beside him and peered at the images.

"What is?" Lestrade asked. "You gonna tell us?"

"Try looking yourself," Sherlock suggested handing the camera over to him.

"Who?" John asked as he and Janine crowded around Lestrade. "F—for what? Is the _murderer_ in the these photographs?"

"It's not what's _in_ the photographs," Sherlock corrected. "It's what's _not_ in them. Not in any of them."

"Sherlock," John said testily. "The showing-off thing, we've discussed it before." Sherlock exhaled slowly.

"There is _always_ a man at a wedding who is not in any photograph," he explained. "Who can go anywhere, every carry an equipment bag around with him if he likes. And you never even see his face. You only ever see…" Pictures that had been taken that day flashed through my mind accompanied by the clicking of a camera's shutter.

Sherlock whipped out a pair of handcuffs and cuffed the photographer to a luggage cart.

" _The camera_ ," he finished.

"What're you _doing_?" the man demanded. "What is this?" Sherlock took the man's mobile from him and began typing at it, holding it up for us all to see.

"Jonathan Small, today's substitute wedding photographer," Sherlock explained. "Know to us as the _Mayfly Man_. He brother was one of the raw recruits killed in that incursion. Johnny sought revenge on Sholto, worked his way through Sholto's staff, found what he needed. _An invitation to a wedding_. The one time Sholto would have to be out in public. So, he made his plan and rehearsed the murder making sure of _every last detail_.

"Brilliant, ruthless, and almost certainly a monomaniac. Though in fairness, his photographs are actually quite good. Everything you needs on that." He tossed Jonathan's mobile to Lestrade. "You probably ought to arrest him—or something."

"Do you always carry handcuffs?" Janine asked.

"Down, girl," Sherlock said quietly. I bristled at the exchange.

"Come quick," Mary said happily, hurrying over to John. She stopped and looked both confused and concerned over what was going on.

"It's not _me_ you should be arresting, Mr. Holmes," Jonathan said.

"Oh, I don't do the arresting," Sherlock quipped. "I just farm that out."

" _Sholto_ ," Jonathan insisted. "He's the killer, not me. I should have killed him quicker." He chuckled and gave Sherlock a dark smile.

"I shouldn't have tried to be clever," he admitted.

" _You should have driven faster_ ," Sherlock replied in a dangerously quiet voice. I knew that voice. He reserved that for the most serious of situations. He offered Janine his arm and she linked her arm with his. I ground my teeth and tried to hide my seething as I watched them walk from the room. Mary and John followed them. I knew I had no choice but to follow as well.

* * *

I managed to watch Sherlock and Janine dance together by reminding myself (repeatedly) that it was only for three and a half minutes. It was a waltz. Just a waltz and nothing more. _I_ was his girlfriend. He loved _me_. It was _just_ a dance.

Mary and John had their first dance shortly after that. I watched with teary eyes, they just looked so lovely together.

As the song drew to a close John tipped Mary backwards.

"Really?" she gasped happily. They laughed and kissed, looking every inch the perfect couple. The guests applauded.

" _Whoo_!" Janine shouted, not looking at them but at Sherlock. " _Yeah_!" Sherlock tossed her his boutonniere. I was going to bite through my cheek if I had to keep watching this!

"Ladies and gentlemen, just one last thing before the evening begins properly," Sherlock said stepping up to the microphone. "Apologies for earlier, a crisis arose and was dealt with. More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I have never made a vow in my life and after tonight I never will again. So, here in front of you all, my first and last vow.

"Mary and John…whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on, I swear I will _always_ be there, _always_ , for all three of you." I blinked and in the same second Sherlock seemed to realize what he had just said.

"Uh…I'm sorry, I—I mean two of you. All two of you. Both of you, in fact, I just miscounted. Anyway, it's time for _dancing_. Play the music again, please. Thank you." Music and dance lights started up but no one was moving.

"Okay everybody, just dance!" he called over the music. "Don't be shy! Dancing, please! Very good!" He stepped off the stage and came over to where John, Mary, and I were standing.

"Sorry, that was one more deduction that I was really expecting," he said quickly.

" _Deduction_?" Mary questioned.

"Increased appetite," Sherlock listed.

' _She was_ _ **really**_ _hungry after the ceremony…_ '

"Change in taste perception."

' _It_ _ **was**_ _strange that she didn't like the wine..._ '

"You were sick this morning. You assumed it was just wedding nerves. You got angry with me when I mentioned it to you. All the signs are there." Both John and Mary looked very confused.

' _Oh. My. God!_ '

"The signs of three," Sherlock and I said in unison glancing at her stomach.

" _What_?" she gasped.

"Mary, I think you should do a pregnancy test," Sherlock advised. John doubled over, looking like he was about to faint. Sherlock stumbled over his words for a moment.

"The statistics for the first trimester are…"

"Shut up!" John cut him off. "Just shut up."

"Sorry," Sherlock replied.

"How did _he_ notice before me?" John demanded. "I'm a _bloody doctor_."

"It's your day off," Sherlock supplied.

"It's _your_ day off!" John snapped back.

"Stop panicking," Sherlock ordered.

"I'm not panicking," John argued.

" _I'm_ pregnant," Mary snapped. " _I'm_ panicking."

" _Don't panic_ ," Sherlock said sharply. "None of you panic. Absolutely no reason to panic."

"Oh, and _you'd_ know, of course?" John scoffed.

"Yes, I would," Sherlock answered calmly. "You're already the best parents in the world, look at all the practice you've had."

"The practice?" John demanded.

"Well, you're hardly going to need _me_ around now that you've got a _real baby_ on the way." He smiled at John and finally John's face broke into a big silly grin. He clapped Sherlock on the back of the neck and began laughing. He turned to Mary, who had also started to smile, and patted her on the shoulder. She looked over at me and I beamed at her. I was thrilled for them, truly. I could already imagine how adorable their child would be.

A moment of awkward silence fell over us. I had no idea what had happened to the mood. Maybe it was because Sherlock was clearly worrying over the thought of losing John to married life and now he had _baby_ on the way.

"Dance!" he commanded.

"Hmm?" John asked distractedly.

"Both of you now, go dance. We can't just stand here, people will wonder what we're talking about."

"Right," John agreed looking around at the dancing going on around us.

"What about you?" Mary asked tearfully.

"Well, we can't all three dance," John pointed out. "There _are_ limits."

"Yes there are," Sherlock agreed. "Besides, I've got Reilen." John cleared his throat.

"Come on, husband, let's go," Mary said.

"This isn't a waltz, is it?" John asked.

"No," Mary laughed.

"Don't worry, Mary, I _have_ been tutoring him," Sherlock assured her.

"He did, you know," John told her. "Baker Street, behind closed curtains. Mrs. Hudson came in one time. Don't know how _those_ rumors started." They laughed as they danced away from us. Sherlock watched them with a smile on his face but as soon as they couldn't see him anymore the smile slipped away and he looked sad.

"Want to dance?" I offered. He looked around us looking awkward, sad, and lost. Like a little boy left alone by his friends with no idea how to make new ones. He spotted Janine and grinned, taking a step toward her but she smiled, pointed to the man she was dancing with, and gave him the thumbs up. It was the comics and sci-fi geek from earlier.

' _Guess she found him acceptably hot,_ ' I scoffed to myself. I wanted to be angry with him for even thinking about going over to her but I stopped myself. He just looked _so unhappy_. I couldn't be angry with him when he looked like that.

"Sherlock." I put my hand on his arm and he looked down at me like he had just remembered that I was there. "Do you want to go home?" I had meant to keep him from doing this but it felt like torture to make him stay. He nodded and headed back to the stage. He folded up the sheet music which he had titled simply _Waltz for Mary & John_ and placed it in an envelope with _Dr. and Mrs. Watson_ written across it. He left it on the music stand and together we walked through the crowd. I saw Molly watching us and she looked like she wanted to stop us from leaving but then seemed to think better of it and went back to dancing with Tom, Mrs. Hudson, and my siblings. My parents were dancing near John and Mary.

As we left, Sherlock put of his coat and buttoned it up, not saying anything to me and still looking incredibly sad and alone.

"You don't have to be alone anymore," I said as I took his hand. "I'm here now." Sherlock looked at me and gave me a tiny smile.

"Yes, you are, aren't you?" he agreed.


	29. To Trap a Shark

Chapter 29: To Trap a Shark

"No," I said flatly crossing my arms over my chest and scowling at Sherlock. "Absolutely not. That's not happening."

"Reilen, please _think_!" he snapped. "I have to do this to lay the trap! I _need_ her and the only way to get to her is by—"

" _Dating her_!" I shouted. "You want to _break up with me_ for a _case_!?" Sherlock sighed and ran his hands over his face.

"It would only be for a short while," he insisted. "Just a month or so. Just long enough to gain her trust and exploit it. Whenever she wasn't around we wouldn't be broken up."

"But for it to be believable we'd have to be broken up to _everyone we know_!" I clenched my fists to keep myself from hitting him.

"Reilen, this is _important_ ," he pleaded. "I wouldn't ask you to do something like this if it wasn't."

"You've been forming this plan since you found out who Janine was, haven't you?" I ground out. " _That's_ why you paid so much attention to her at the wedding!"

"Yes," he admitted. "Please, Reilen, _please_ , do this for me." That wasn't fair. I would do anything for him. And he knew it.

"All right," I sighed.

* * *

Janine had been texting Sherlock. It seemed things hadn't worked out with the comics and sci-fi geek and she was looking for someone else. Sherlock had mentioned that he and I had broken up and she'd pounced, immediately asking him out for coffee to "talk about it". He'd accepted and gone out leaving me alone in the flat. When he was gone the full weight of what I had agreed to hit me. We weren't _really_ broken up. I had moved my things back into John's old room for when Janine inevitably started coming over but when she wasn't here I would still be sleeping with Sherlock. But it _felt_ like we really were. I had just watched him walk out of the flat to _go on a date_ with another woman. My heart felt like it was ripping in two.

I grabbed my mobile and dialed my mother's number. John and Mary were still off on their honeymoon. I would never dream of bothering them during that.

"Hi honey," Mum's voice chirped. "What's going on?" My throat closed up and my eyes stung with tears.

"Mum," I choked out. "Mum, he—he—"

"What is it, sweetheart?" she asked in that worried yet soothing tone that only mothers can pull off. "What's wrong?"

"He left me, Mum," I sobbed. "Sherlock, he—he left me."

"Left you?" She sounded so confused. "How do you mean? Where are you?"

"I'm at the flat," I cried. "He—he said I could stay, John's old room is empty and I don't have anywhere else to go but—but—he said he didn't want to be with me anymore." I had only meant to tell her that we had broken up. I hadn't meant to make up some ridiculous story about Sherlock saying things he'd never said.

Mum sucked in a breath.

"Oh Reilen," she murmured. "I'm sorry, love. I'm so so sorry. Do you want me to come get you? Do you want to come stay with me and your dad?"

"No," I sniffled wiping at my eyes. "No. I—I just…I just needed to tell you."

"Of course, dear," she replied quietly. "If you need anything, if you want to come and stay with us— _anything_ —you call me, all right?"

"Okay, Mum, thanks."

"I love you, sweetheart," Mum said.

"I love you too, Mummy," I whispered so I wouldn't start crying again. We hung up

and I went to the sofa and laid down, feeling empty and broken and so very very lonely.

Sherlock came home a few hours later and seeing him did make me feel better even if I hated where he had been. He wasn't too thrilled about what I had told my mother, however.

"Well I had to say something," I snapped. "I was a mess, I had to give her a reason."

"Yes, but couldn't you have made me seem _a little_ less awful?" he demanded. "You didn't even give her a reason as to why we broke up."

"She didn't ask." And I couldn't come up with one. Just saying that we were broken up was hard enough.

"Well perhaps we should—"

"How'd it go?" I questioned, fed up with the topic of our "break up". Sherlock beamed at me.

"She's asked me out for lunch." I nodded curtly and marched down the hall, shutting myself in our bedroom. This was going to be much harder than I thought.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson found out soon after that when she noticed that Sherlock was going out without me quite often. By then I managed to keep myself from bawling when I told her that we had broken up. She had scolded Sherlock fiercely, calling him an idiot (among other things) and crying over it herself. I mentioned it to Molly but made it clear that I didn't want to talk about it and by then I really didn't. The more I discussed the "break up" the more upset I became with myself for ever agreeing to this in the first place. I had yet to tell John and Mary as they were currently getting settled in their new house and I didn't want to bother them.

* * *

I walked into the kitchen and stopped short, nearly dropping the bags of groceries in my arms. Sherlock stood in front of me with a needle sticking out of his arm.

"Back already?" he asked glancing up at me as he injected himself with whatever was in the syringe.

" _What are you doing_?" I demanded. He dropped the syringe to the table and sighed contentedly.

"All part of the plan," he assured me.

"What is? What was in that? What did you take!?" I had never seen Sherlock on drugs, at least I hadn't if I continued under the assumption that he _hadn't_ been high at the wedding. He grinned and dropped into one of the kitchen chairs.

"Heroin," he replied. "Just enough to be convincing."

"Convince _who_!?" I ground out. "Why—I don't even—why would you… _WHAT IS GOING ON_!?"

"I'm trying to get someone's attention," he answered. "To do that he must believe that I'm a drug addict."

"That's insane," I hissed through clenched teeth. "You do know that, don't you? You could just _pretend_ to be high. You can be quite convincing."

"No," he disagreed. "It has to be real. Even if it _didn't_ need to be, it's too late now, wouldn't you say?" I sat down at the table and sighed heavily.

' _This is because John is gone. He misses John and he's using this—this—_ _ **whatever**_ _this is to distract himself._ ' I knew I should be more upset that I apparently wasn't enough for Sherlock but over the years I had come to realize that Sherlock _needed_ John. He needed him the way that _I_ needed Sherlock.

"Just promise me you won't overdo it," I requested. "Sherlock, I swear if you OD—" He reached over and put a hand over one of mine.

"I'm being careful," he promised.


	30. A Careless Mistake

Chapter 30: A Careless Mistake

I stared down at bathroom counter and tried to hear past the ringing in my ears. My stomach roiled and I dropped to my knees. After dry heaving for several minutes I realized that nothing was coming up. Shaking, I fell back against the bathtub and drew in a shuddering breath.

"What am I going to do?" I questioned the empty room. After all of Sherlock's careful planning. After all this time putting up with _Janine_ and I'd gone and wrecked it.

A knock came from the other side of the door and I quickly got to my feet.

"Reilen?" Sherlock called. "Are you all right?" I opened the door and found Sherlock standing in the doorway. Clearly, Janine wasn't around or he wouldn't even be checking on me.

"When did she leave?" I asked.

"Half an hour ago," he answered. "You can quit hiding now."

"I wasn't hiding!" I snapped. "I'm not feeling well." Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"You look perfectly fine to me." I let out an exasperated sigh and pushed past him.

"Then I guess I am," I bit out. "Thanks for that diagnosis." Sherlock followed me as I moved down the hall, through the kitchen, and into the living room. I paced around the room and wished, for the first time, that John had not gotten married and moved out. I needed him here. I needed his help. _He'd_ have known what to do.

"You know she doesn't mean anything to me," Sherlock said quietly. "She's only here because—"

"Because of the _case_!" I cried throwing my hands in the air. "Yes, yes Sherlock, _I know_! I know the plan! I know why you're doing all this! That's not the problem!"

"Then what _is_?" he demanded. He was always short on patience after Janine's visits. She insisted on calling him _Sherl_ , rearranging the kitchen, and making them be this cutesy little couple which it wore on his nerves. When she was gone there was no patience left for me.

" _Me_!" I shouted, nearly kicking over the coffee table in frustration. "I'm the problem!" I had been stupid. I hadn't been _careful_ … _we_ hadn't been careful. Now the plan was ruined.

' _No. The test said this happened_ _ **before**_ _the plan,_ ' I reminded myself. ' _Well…before Sherlock told me the plan, anyway._ ' According to the test I had most likely gotten pregnant the week of the wedding. Still, he wasn't going to take this well.

"Reilen, please, I don't have the energy to do this right now," Sherlock snapped. "Just tell me what you mean. Don't make me pry it out of you."

"I'm _pregnant_!" The admission burst out of me. Sherlock stared at me blankly for a moment and I wished I could take it back. I wished I had lied, told him literally _anything else_.

"No," he said at last.

"No?" I questioned. "What'd you mean _no_?"

"No," he repeated. "You're not. It's a mistake. You're not pregnant." I didn't know what I had expected him to say but it certainly wasn't _that_.

"I took a test, Sherlock," I said quietly. "It's digital—it—it even tells you how far along you are."

"Then take another one," he ordered. I didn't have an argument against that so I walked back into the bathroom and shut myself inside.

The result was the same. Sherlock stared at the test and I watched every muscle in his body tense.

"I need some air." He turned on his heel and stormed from the flat.

* * *

I tried once again to get ahold of Sherlock. I'd lost count of how many times I'd called him. I'd been calling him for hours but he never answered and he was ignoring all of my texts as well. I was past worrying if he was okay. I was past understanding that he needed some time to think. I was _furious_ at him for storming out on me with no word on when he'd be back.

As I was debating whether I should call John or Mycroft the front door opened. I rushed to the top of the stairs and saw Sherlock coming towards me.

"Where have you been!?" I demanded. "You can't just disappear like that!" He said nothing as he brushed past me and walked into the living room.

"Sit down," he ordered sharply after he had taken off his coat and scarf. Flinching at his tone, I did as he said and sank into John's chair.

"Did you go to see Mycroft?" I wondered. That's where John and I always went when Sherlock upset us or when something was really wrong.

"Of course not," he snapped. "I can't have him knowing about this." I opened my mouth to start ranting about his behavior but he leaned forward and fixed me with a hard stare.

"You're not to say a word about this," he commanded. "To anyone. Not to John or Mary. Not Mycroft or your family."

"Sherlock that's—that's ridiculous," I scoffed. "I'm not gonna _hide_ it."

"Yes you will!" he snarled. "I've worked too hard on this for you to ruin it!" I felt my face crumple as tears blurred my vision.

" _Fine_!" I choked out before running from the room. I shut myself in John's old room since the sheets in our room hadn't been changed yet and I didn't want to smell Janine's perfume all over my side of the bed.

' _I thought we were past him acting like this,_ ' I lamented as I curled into a ball and sobbed into the pillow.

* * *

The door creaked open and I lifted my head from the pillow.

"What?" I sniffled at Sherlock who stood in the doorway, frowning at me.

"Come to bed," he replied. It wasn't forceful enough to be an order but it also wasn't gentle enough to be a request. It just sort of _was_.

"I _am_ in bed," I muttered laying my head back on the pillow. Sherlock didn't respond for a minute.

"I see," he said at last before getting into bed with me. I pulled away from him and curled into a small ball at the very edge of the bed.

"What're you doing?" I demanded. Without a word, Sherlock pulled me backwards until he was curled around me. I felt him rest his forehead against my hair. For a minute, he said nothing, just breathed softly against the back of my neck.

"I want you to come to _our_ bed," he said. I pulled away from him and moved back to the edge of the bed.

"Why?" I snapped. "I've ruined everything." Sherlock sighed heavily and pulled me against him again.

"It's not ruined yet," he responded quietly. "Now please come to bed. Please?" I nodded, too worn out to argue, and we got up and went down to our room.

"I want to keep it," I said as I got into my pajamas.

"That is _your_ decision to make," he agreed. "No matter what I think." I turned to him and put my hands on my hips.

"Do you want me to?" I questioned. He had been so good with Archie and so good with my sisters that I had let go of the idea that he didn't like children. However, he had never expressed any interest in having children of his own.

"It's your decision," he said again. With a sigh, I ran my fingers through my hair and looked at him pleadingly.

"Just answer me," I begged. "I need to know how you feel. If you don't want me to keep it—"

"Would that make any difference?" he demanded. "If I _didn't_ want you to keep it would you change your mind?"

"No," I answered crossing my arms over my chest. "But I want to know where you stand on the issue." He looked down at the bedspread and was silent for a long moment.

"I want you to keep it," he said at last. "All of this with Janine…I expect it to be over well before you start showing. Then you can tell everyone."

"We can always say we were waiting until I got past the three month mark," I suggested feeling a rush of relief. "A lot of people do that." Sherlock nodded and a small smile flickered across his face.

"Let's go to bed, shall we?" he replied. We got into bed and I cuddled up to him.

"Good night, Sherlock," I said.

"Pleasant dreams, Reilen."


	31. Unwanted Visitors

Chapter 31: Unwanted Visitors

I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wide awake. There was too much light in John's old room. Sherlock had thicker curtains that kept out the light. I hated sleeping in here. I always ended up waking earlier than I wanted.

Sherlock had gone out last night and Janine was in his room so I wasn't too keen on going down to the kitchen. I didn't want to run into _her_ first thing in the morning. Luckily, my morning sickness hadn't been too terrible lately. I was hoping it would hold off until she left. Sherlock and I hadn't spoken much about the pregnancy. He was pretending it wasn't happening, at least until all of this with Janine was over.

My mobile rang and I grabbed it off the nightstand expecting it to be Sherlock. John's name flashed across the screen.

"Morning," I yawned as I answered the call.

"Rei, do you _have any idea_ where I just found Sherlock!?" John demanded.

"Well, I—" I began.

"I've had him over to Barts," he cut me off. "He's back on _heroin_! I've called Mycroft. He should be there soon."

"You—you _did what_!?" I yelped.

"We'll be on our way as soon as Molly's finished checking him out." John hung up and several moments later I heard the front door open. I jumped up and threw on some clothes before going to the stairs and finding several people walking into the flat.

" _Anderson_!?" I demanded. "What the bloody hell are you doing here!?"

"Drugs bust," he answered.

" _You're not with the police anymore_!" I ground out.

" _I_ asked him to come," Mycroft said from below me. I went to the landing and saw Sherlock's older brother standing at the foot of the stairs.

"Mycroft, _get them out of here_!" I ordered. Mycroft took a seat on one of the steps.

"Join me, would you?" It may have _sounded_ like a request but I knew it wasn't. I stomped down the stairs and sat several steps above him.

"How long?" he demanded.

"'Bout a month," I muttered.

"You didn't think to inform me about it?"

"No," I snapped. "Sherlock's _fine_."

"My younger brother is an _addict_ , Reilen," Mycroft bit out. "If he's taking drugs he is many things but _fine_ is not one of them." The front door opened and Sherlock stopped and rolled his eyes at the sight of Mycroft and me sitting on the stairs. I blinked in surprise. Sherlock was wearing grey sweatpants, a black polo shirt under a black zip-up hooded jacket, and another blue jacket over that. His hair was a mess and there seemed to be a layer of grime clinging to him. I had never seen him like this before and I didn't like it. I wanted to drag him upstairs and put him in the bath, clothes and all.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded glaring at Mycroft.

" _I_ phoned him," John snapped.

"The siren call of old habits," Mycroft scoffed. "How very like Uncle Rudy, though, in many ways, cross-dressing would have been a wiser path for you."

' _I don't need the image of Sherlock in a dress in my head…thanks,_ ' I thought to myself. Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at Mycroft.

" _You_ phoned him?" he asked John although he never took his eyes off of his brother.

" _'_ _Course_ I bloody phoned him," John replied.

" _'_ _Course_ he bloody did," Mycroft snapped in agreement. "Now, save me a little time. Where should we be looking?"

" _We_?" Sherlock demanded.

"Mr. Holmes!" Anderson's voice called from the kitchen.

"For _god's sake_!" Sherlock snarled furiously. He stormed up the stairs and Mycroft and I had to move quickly to get out of his way. I hurried after him without giving John or Mycroft a second glance.

In the kitchen, Anderson and a female "colleague" were going through the cabinets.

" _Anderson_ ," Sherlock spat.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," he replied raising his hands apologetically. "It's for your own good." Sherlock let out an annoyed huff and dropped his keys onto the kitchen table. The woman stopped and stared at him.

"Oh, that's _him_ , isn't it?" she asked quietly. Sherlock spun around and stormed over to his chair. Another one of Anderson's "colleagues" was sitting in it reading a book but when he saw Sherlock coming he jumped up, put the book on the table beside it, and hurried away. Sherlock flipped up the hood of jacket and climbed into his chair, lying sideways across it.

"He's said to be taller," the woman remarked. I rolled my eyes at her and walked over to Sherlock. He didn't look like he wanted to be bothered so I just sat down on the coffee table. Mycroft strode into the kitchen and looked around.

"Some members of your little _fan club_ ," he told Sherlock. "Do be polite. They're entirely trustworthy, and even willing to search through this toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat." I stuck my tongue out at him when he wasn't looking. Mycroft turned back to Sherlock and frowned at him.

"You're a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can't afford a drug habit."

"I do not _have_ a drug habit," Sherlock responded irritably. John looked from Sherlock to where his chair was…or _would have been_ if it was still in the living room.

"Where's my chair?" he asked.

"It was blocking my view of the kitchen," Sherlock replied. John turned to me and then to Mycroft with an annoyed smile.

"Well, it's good to be missed!"

"Yeah, you were gone," Sherlock told him. "I saw an opportunity." John turned back to him.

"No, you saw the kitchen," he pointed out. Mycroft turned to Anderson and the woman.

"What've you found so far?" he demanded. "Clearly nothing."

"There's _nothing_ to find!" Sherlock snapped loudly. I watched Mycroft's gaze go to the closed door at the end of the hall.

"Your bedroom door is _shut_ ," he noted walking toward it. "You haven't been home _all night_. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?" As he reached the door to Sherlock's room Sherlock yanked back his hood and shot into a sitting position.

"Okay, _stop_!" he shouted. "Just stop!" Mycroft has started to open the door but pulled it closed again.

"Point made," Sherlock said.

" _Jesus_ , Sherlock," John sighed. Mycroft came back down the hallway.

"I'll have to phone our parents, of course, in _Oklahoma_ ," he said testily. "Won't be the first time your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line dancing." Sherlock stood and took a deep shaky breath before walking over to his brother.

"This is not what you think," he insisted quietly. "This is for a _case_."

"What case could _possibly_ justify this?" Mycroft asked giving Sherlock a slight smile as though he was humoring him.

" _Magnussen_ ," Sherlock answered and Mycroft's smile vanished. " _Charles Augustus Magnussen_." Mycroft drew in a deep breath and turned back to Anderson and the other members of the fan club.

"That name you think you may have just heard, you were mistaken," he told them in a cool but dangerous tone. "If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you on behalf of the British Security Services that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don't reply, just looked frightened and scuttle." They did as they were told and hurried out of the flat. I got up and went to stand by Sherlock and John. Mycroft came back into the living room and turned to John and me.

"I hope I won't have to threaten _you_ as well," he added.

"Oh please," I scoffed.

"Well, I think we'd both find that embarrassing," John agreed. Sherlock snorted back a laugh and turned away from his brother.

"Magnussen is none of your business," he replied.

"Oh, you mean he's yours?" Sherlock asked turning back and pointing at Mycroft.

"You may consider him under my protection." Mycroft was starting to sound testy again.

"I consider you under his thumb," Sherlock shot back.

"If you go against Magnussen," Mycroft warned him. "Then you will find yourself going against _me_."

"Okay, I'll let you know if I notice." Sherlock walked past Mycroft and over to the door to the flat that came in on the kitchen. "Erm…what was I going to say? Oh, yeah. Bye-bye." He opened the door and pointed through it. Mycroft started to leave but stopped in front of Sherlock.

" _Unwise_ , brother mine," he responded. Sherlock grabbed him by one wrist, twisted that arm behind Mycroft's back, and slammed him against the doorframe causing Mycroft to drop his umbrella. Sherlock took several shuddering breaths as though he was holding back a large amount of rage.

"Brother mine…" he growled twisting Mycroft's wrist until the bones cracked. " _Don't appall me when I'm high._ " John hurried over to the two of them.

"Mycroft, don't say another word, just _go_ ," he told the elder Holmes. "He could snap you in two and right now, I'm slightly worried that he might." Sherlock released his brother and came back into the living room. Mycroft looked after him clutching his arm.

" _Don't_ speak," John insisted. "Just leave." John picked up Mycroft's umbrella and held it out to him. Mycroft snatched it from his hand and stormed out.

"Uh, Magnussen?" John asked Sherlock as he came into the living room.

"What time is it?" Sherlock demanded.

"About 8:00," John answered. Sherlock sighed.

"I'll be meeting him in three hours," he said. "I need a _bath_." He strode from the room.

"It's for a case, you said," John responded.

"Yep," Sherlock called back as he headed down the hallway.

"What sort of case?" John asked.

"Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in." Sherlock stopped by the bathroom door.

"You trying to put me off?" John called.

"God, no," Sherlock answered. "I'm trying to recruit you." He opened the bathroom door and walked inside.

"And stay out of my bedroom," he added before shutting the door and the sound of running water could be heard. As soon as that happened, John headed down the hallway.

"John, I wouldn't," I warned him.

"Why?" John asked. "What's he got in there?"

"Just don't," I answered. He kept on anyway. Sighing, I laid down on the sofa. The sound of the bedroom door opening came from down the hall.

"Oh, John, hi." Janine's voice set my teeth on edge. "How're you?"

" _Janine_?" John sounded confused.

"Sorry," she replied. "Not dressed. Has everybody gone? I heard shouting." She came down the hallway and into the kitchen.

' _You know where Sherlock is,_ ' I ranted internally. ' _There's another door to the bathroom_ _ **in his room**_ _! There's no reason for you to be out here right now!_ ' Except that she knew _I_ was out here and she _loved_ reminding me that she was here. She was probably in one of Sherlock's shirts and nothing else. I closed my eyes and bit down on the inside of my cheek to try and hold back the rage that was boiling inside me.

"Yes, they're gone," John answered.

"God," she muttered. "Look at the time, I'll be late. Sounded like an argument. _Was it Myc_?" God, I hated that she gave them nicknames.

" _Myc_?" John repeated.

"Myc, yeah, his _brother_ , Myc?" She said it as though it was normal for someone to call Mycroft by anything other than his full name. "They're always fighting." She was moving around the kitchen getting a mug from the cupboard and a spoon from the silverware drawer.

' _Like you actually have_ _ **any idea**_ _what they're like,_ ' I scoffed.

" _Mycroft_?" John clarified.

"Do people actually call him that?" Janine scoffed. "Oh, could you be a love and put some coffee on?"

"Sure, right, yeah." John sounded incredibly freaked out. There was a jingling sound so she must have grabbed Sherlock's keys off the table.

"Thanks." She was walking away now, back toward the hallway. "Ooh, how's _Mary_? How's married life?"

"She's fine," John responded. "We're both fine."

"Oh, it's over there now," she told him.

' _Stop rearranging our kitchen!_ ' I shouted mentally. She'd moved the coffee at least four times already.

"Where's Sherl?" she asked and I flinched. I _hated_ that nickname with every fiber of my being.

" _Sherl_ ," John repeated sounding like he could not believe that she had just used _that_ to refer to Sherlock. "Is just having a bath. I'm sure he'll be out in a minute."

"Oh, like he ever is!" she replied.

"Yeah," John muttered. Janine knocked on the bathroom door and opened it without waiting for a response.

"Morning!" she called loudly. They both said something I couldn't make out followed by giggling. Water sloshed around so Sherlock was moving around in the tub.

"Morning," he answered and I could _hear_ the smile in his voice. The door shut and Sherlock chuckled.

" _Ooh_!" Janine exclaimed. Tears formed behind my eyelids but I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes until they went away.

"What's going on?" John demanded. I opened my eyes and sat up.

"Ask Sherlock," I responded because I didn't have the ability to go over it just now, not if I didn't want Janine to see me crying.

* * *

About fifteen minutes later, Sherlock came into the living room wearing his usual suit.

"So," he said to John who was now sitting with me on the sofa. "Just a guess, but you've probably got some questions."

" _Yeah_ ," John agreed slowly. "One or two, pretty much."

"Naturally," Sherlock sighed as he sat down in his chair. Janine's footsteps receded into Sherlock's room.

"You have girlfriend," John stated.

"Yes, I have." Sherlock must have thought that was all John was going to say because he leaned over the arm of his chair and looked at us both. "Now, Magnussen. Magnussen is like a shark. That's the only way I can describe him." John was just staring at him.

"Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, John?" he went on. "Stood up close to the glass, those…floating, flat faces, those dead eyes? That's what he is. I've dealt with murders, psychopaths, terrorists, serial killers."

' _Or you could just say Moriarty. Be the same thing, really._ ' I knew he'd dealt with more than _just_ Moriarty but Moriarty had been all of those things rolled into one. Personally, I thought that it saved time.

" _None of them_ can turn my stomach like _Charles Augustus Magnussen_ ," Sherlock finished.

"Yes, you have," John said.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock blinked at him as that was _not_ the proper response to what he had just told us.

"You have a girlfriend."

"What?" Sherlock scoffed. "Yes. Yes, I'm going out with Janine. I thought that was _fairly_ obvious."

" _Rei_ is your girlfriend!" John cried.

"We broke up." Sherlock shrugged. "It does happen."

"Yes." John seemed flustered by Sherlock's lack of—well—anything, really. "Well, yes…" He cleared his throat and continued.

"But I mean, you…You are in a relationship?" Sherlock sighed.

"Yes I am."

"You and Janine?" I really wished he would stop saying that. I didn't need to have the fact that Sherlock was with her crammed down my throat any more than it already was.

"Mhm. Yes, me and Janine."

"Care to elaborate?" I knew John would want the whole story but I _really_ didn't want to go into the "whole story" while Janine was still in the flat. It was bad enough that we had to tell him at all.

Sherlock sucked in a breath and blew out a puff of air.

"Well, we're in a good place," he explained. "It's—um…very affirming."

"You got that from a book," John said.

"Everyone got that from a book," Sherlock snapped.

"But—Rei…" John began.

"Okay you two bad boys," Janine cut in as she walked into the room. "Behave yourselves." She didn't acknowledge me. She never did if she could help it.

"You, _Sherl_ , you're going to have to tell me where you were last night." She sat on Sherlock's lap and John looked like he was having an aneurysm.

"Working," Sherlock answered.

"Working?" she repeated. "Of course. I'm the only one who really knows what you're like. Remember?" _I wanted to smash she head in with a rock._

"Don't you go letting on," Sherlock requested as he tapped her nose.

"I might just, actually," she murmured before looking over at John. "I haven't told Mary about this, I kind of wanted to surprise her."

"Yeah, I think you probably will," John replied.

"But we should have you two over for dinner really soon," she decided.

"Yeah," Sherlock agreed.

"My place, though, not the scuzz dump." She bopped Sherlock on the shoulder with her fist as she said this. The two of them laughed but if she _really_ knew Sherlock she would have noticed how strained his laugh was.

" _Great_ , yeah," John said, obviously still trying to process what he was seeing. "Dinner! Yeah."

"Oh, I'd better dash." Janine stood up hurriedly. "It was brilliant to see you!" Always the gentleman, John got to his feet when she did.

"You, too." Sherlock walked with her to the door and opened it for her.

"Have a lovely day," he told her. "Call me later."

"I might do," she agreed holding on to the edge of his suit jacket. "I might call you. Unless I meet someone prettier." She leaned in to kiss him and I had to look away. I wanted to stuff my fingers in my ears to avoid hearing it but thought better of it.

"Solve me a crime, Sherlock Holmes," she requested. Sherlock let the door shut loudly as he turned back to us.

"You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner," he said to John. "But he is so much more than that. He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power." He sat down at the table by the windows and opened his laptop.

"And I'm not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond."

"I don't understand," John said flatly pacing around the room. " _How_ could you break up? What happened? Sherlock, _what did you do_!?"

"It was me," I said quickly. Sherlock's head snapped up and his brow furrowed.

"You?" John asked.

"I—I was jealous over Sherlock having to be around Janine at the wedding and I was driving him mad," I explained my mind easily supplying the perfect lie; there was truth to it after all. "He couldn't take it anymore. I—I did this, John. It was my fault. I made Sherlock not want to be with me anymore." For a moment, no one said anything. Sherlock looked like I had punched him in the stomach but he quickly covered it up when John stormed over to him.

"That's _it_!?" he ground out. "She wanted you to pay attention to her so you decided to break up with her and shove Janine in her face!?"

"I'm the one who's staying here," I pointed out. "I—I didn't have to."

"You've got the money for flat?" John demanded turning to me now. I shook my head.

"I could go back to my parent's place," I muttered. John shook his head.

"No," he said angrily. "You belong _here_."

"Well I'm still here, aren't I?" John turned back to Sherlock.

"She loves you, you _bloody_ idiot!" he scolded Sherlock. "Can't you see what this is doing to her? How much this is _hurting_ her? After _everything_ —she doesn't deserve this, Sherlock." Sherlock looked like he wanted to agree. He looked like he wanted to take everything back or, at the very least, tell John that this was all part of a plan. But the look only lasted for a moment.

"John, _focus_ ," he snapped gesturing to his computer. "He is the _Napoleon of blackmail_." John huffed for a moment before going over to Sherlock. I shoved all of my feelings into a tiny box in my mind palace and got back into case mode. Joining the two of them I saw that Sherlock had information on Magnussen's house pulled up on the screen.

"And he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge," Sherlock continued. "Its name is Appledore."

"So…dinner," John said like he still couldn't believe any of this was happening.

"Sorry, what, dinner?" Sherlock repeated looking confused.

"Me and Mary coming for dinner with wine and…sitting."

" _Seriously_?" Sherlock questioned. "I've just told you that the Western world is _run_ from this house and you want to talk about _dinner_?"

"Fine, talk about the house," John snapped. "But we're not done here. This—this—whatever the hell this is with Janine, it doesn't make sense." Sherlock sighed heavily and turned back to his laptop.

"It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world," he explained. "The Alexandrian library of secrets and scandals. And _none of it_ is on a computer. He's smart. Computers can be hacked. It's all on hard copy in vaults _underneath_ that house. And as long as it is, the personal freedom of anyone you've ever met is a fantasy." The sound of footsteps came from the stairwell.

"Ooh-hoo!" Mrs. Hudson called as she knocked lightly and opened the door. "Oh, that was doorbell. Couldn't you hear it?"

"It's in the fridge," Sherlock replied. "It kept ringing."

"Oh," she sighed. "That's not a fault, Sherlock."

"Who is it?" John asked. Mrs. Hudson drew in a breath looking a bit frightened. Sherlock stood at once and nodded.

"Let them in," he said. She hurried down the stairs. Sherlock moved over to the fireplace.

"Reilen," he called. "Over there, on the other side of John, quickly." He pointed over to the other side of the fireplace where John was standing. I frowned and went to stand where Sherlock had indicated. I understood that he wanted to me closer to John because we were "broken up" but I didn't understand why I couldn't be in between them.

The door opened and three men strode into the room. Sherlock sighed and held out his arms.

"Go ahead," he allowed. One of them began patting him down. As soon as he was finished he came over to me.

"Miss," he said giving me an expectant look. I glanced at Sherlock and he nodded slightly. I spread my arms and allowed him to pat me down. Luckily, in my rush to get dressed this morning, I hadn't had time to put anything other than my fluorite into my pockets. As the first man finished with me another came over to John.

"Sir?" he asked.

"Can I have a moment?" John requested.

"He's fine," Sherlock assured the man as his pat down concluded. The second man knelt down and began checking John's pockets.

"Look, I…right, I should probably tell you…" John stammered. The man pulled a pocket knife from one pocket. It wasn't _his_. I would have to ask him where he got it although I had a pretty good idea.

"Okay, I…that…" The man reached for something that I couldn't see because John's jacket was in the way. "And…" The man stood up, holding a tire iron. My eyes widened in surprise and Sherlock looked like he was going over everything that had happened in the last few hours trying to figure out why he hadn't known that that was there.

"Doesn't mean I'm not pleased to see you," John told the man.

"I can vouch for this man, he is a doctor," Sherlock said quickly. "If you know who

I am, then you know who he is. Don't you, Mr. Magnussen?" A fourth man stepped into the flat and his bodyguards stepped away from us.

"I understood we were meeting at your office," Sherlock said. Magnussen gazed around.

"This is my office," he said as he moved further into the room, glancing at me and John. "Well, it is _now_." He went over the table by the windows and picked up some of the papers that Sherlock had lying there before going and sitting on the sofa. Sherlock looked unnerved by this.

"Mr. Magnussen, I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood," Sherlock informed him. "On the matter of her husband's letters. Some time ago you put pressure on her concerning those letters. She would like those letters back." Magnussen studied Sherlock but said nothing. Sherlock took a breath and continued.

"Obviously the letters no longer have any _practical_ use to you so with that in mind…" He stopped abruptly and Magnussen chuckled.

"Something I said?" Sherlock asked sharply.

"No, No, I was reading," Magnussen replied touching one side of his glasses. "There's rather a lot." He paused and lowered his hand.

" _Redbeard_ ," he said and Sherlock went pale. Magnussen shook his head slightly and leaned back into the sofa.

"Sorry. Sorry, you were probably talking?" Sherlock clicked his tongue.

"I…" He cleared his throat. "I was trying to explain that I have been asked to act on behalf…"

"Bathroom?" Magnussen interrupted looking to one of his bodyguards.

"Along from the kitchen, sir," the one who had checked John for weapons replied.

"Okay."

"I've been asked to negotiate the return of those letters," Sherlock bit out rapidly. "I'm aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents…" Magnussen took off his glasses and looked away from Sherlock again.

"Is it like the rest of the flat?" he asked, completely ignoring Sherlock's attempts to speak to him.

"Sir?" the second bodyguard questioned.

"The bathroom," Magnussen clarified.

"Yes, sir."

"Maybe not, then." He looked around like he thought someone was watching.

' _Moriarty had cameras in the flat,_ ' I remembered. ' _But we got them all…didn't we?_ ' I would have to talk with Sherlock to be sure.

"Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?" Sherlock ground out.

"Lady Elizabeth Smallwood," Magnussen said slowly. "I _like_ her." He smacked his lips. I wanted to be far away from this man. He made my skin crawl in a way that Moriarty never had. Moriarty had been cruel and quite possibly insane but he had at least been charismatic when he had wanted to be.

"Mr. Magnussen," Sherlock ground out slowly. " _Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary_?"

"She's English with a spine," Magnussen went on before pushing the coffee table forward with his foot and standing up. "Best thing about the English…" One of the bodyguards stepped in between Sherlock and John and removed the guard from the fireplace.

"You're _so_ domesticated," Magnussen noted as he came over to us. "Always standing around, apologizing. Keeping your little heads down." He stepped between the two of them and unzipped his trousers. I kept my eyes forward, biting the inside of my cheek and clenching my fists to keep from running from the room.

"You can do what you like here," Magnussen informed us as he urinated into the fireplace. "No one's _ever_ going to stop you. A nation of _herbivores_. I've interests all over the world but, uh, everything starts in England. If it works here…" He zipped up his trousers.

"I'd try it in a _real_ country." He stepped back between Sherlock and John and took the hand wipe that the second bodyguard offered him.

"The United Kingdom, eh?" he scoffed. " _Petri dish_ to the Western world. Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those for later so…I'm keeping them." He dropped the wet wipe to the floor.

"Goodbye." He started to leave but turned back. "Anyway…" He chucked and pulled a packet of papers from the inside of his jacket just far enough for us to see the top corners.

"They're _funny_." With that he led his men from the flat.

" _Jesus_!" John hissed as their footsteps retreated down the stairs.

"Did you notice the _extraordinary_ thing he did?" Sherlock asked. John scoffed.

"There was a moment that of stuck in the mind, yeah."

"Exactly," Sherlock agreed. "When he showed us the letters." John rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Okay," he muttered. He looked at me and shrugged. _Of course_ Sherlock's mind was already past that. But Sherlock had said that he never made copies of sensitive documents so that they had to real.

"He's brought the letters to London," I realized.

"So no matter _what_ he says, he's ready to make a deal," Sherlock finished whirling around the room. "Now, Magnussen only makes a deal once he's established a person's weaknesses, the "pressure point" he calls it."

' _Moriarty used to say that too,_ ' I remembered. I shook my head, determined not to think about him. I hadn't thought about him in a long time. I wasn't about to let myself get all worked up over something as silly as a shared phrase.

"So," Sherlock concluded as he put on his coat. "Clearly he believes I'm a drug addict and no serious threat." He looked out the window, presumably watching Magnussen get into his car.

"And of course, he's in town tonight; the letters will be _in his safe_ , in his London office, while _he's_ out to dinner with the Marketing Group of Great Britain from 7:00 till 10:00."

"How do you know his schedule?" John questioned.

"Because I do," Sherlock replied. "Right, I'll see you tonight. I've got some shopping to do." He raced from the flat.

"What's tonight?" John called after him.

"I'll text instructions," Sherlock called back.

" _I'll_ text _you_ if I'm available!" John shouted.

"You are, I checked!" Sherlock shouted back. John shook his head and took off after Sherlock. I went to the window and watched Sherlock get into a cab. After a he was gone, John looked at his watch and marched in the opposite direction.

\- What should I do? I texted to Sherlock.

\- Stay home. I only need John for this. After tonight you won't have to worry about Janine anymore.

I grinned and grabbed the television remote off of the bookshelf. _Finally_ Janine would be gone and I could have Sherlock back! I settled down on Sherlock's chair and began flipping through the channels.


	32. Lazarus

Chapter 32: Lazarus

Later that night my mobile rang, John's name flashed across the screen.

"Hi John," I greeted him. "How'd it go?"

"Rei, you—you need to go to Barts right away," he said frantically. "I'm in an ambulance with Sherlock. He—he—" My whole body went cold.

" _He what_!?" I cried. "John, is he okay!?"

"He's been shot," John answered. "Just get to the hospital."

"Okay," I replied as I ran around the flat frantically gathering my things. "Okay. I'm on my way." I hung up and rushed down to the street.

* * *

I raced into Barts and grabbed the first nurse I saw.

"Sherlock—Sherlock Holmes was just brought in," I gasped. "Where—where is he?"

"Let me check," she answered leading me over to a desk. I waited impatiently as she clicked through some screens on her computer.

"He's been taken in for emergency surgery," she replied. "The waiting area is down that hall and to the left." I nodded and took off the way she had pointed.

"John!" I cried when I saw him in the waiting area. He jumped to his feet and rushed over to me.

"John, what—what _happened_!?" I demanded as tears began to stream down my cheeks. "How could—who would—?" John pulled me into his arms and held me tightly.

"He's going to be fine," he insisted. "They're working on him. He'll be fine." He led me back to where he had been sitting and I sank into a seat.

"He'll be fine," John repeated. "He's going to be fine." I drew my knees up to my chin and sobbed. How had this happened? _Why_?

"It's going to be okay, Rei," he said putting a hand on my shoulder. "You know Sherlock, he'll pull through." My hands drifted to my stomach. We hadn't picked out names or anything. I couldn't lose Sherlock, not now.

"John," I whimpered. "I'm _pregnant_."

"Oh Jesus," he gasped softly. "Did—does Sherlock know?" I nodded.

"We were only pretending to be broken up," I told him. "It was all so he could get to Magnussen."

"I know," John replied. "He pretended to propose to Janine to get into Magnussen's office. Why'd you agree to something like that?" He hadn't told me he was planning to do _that_ but it didn't surprise me as much as I thought it would.

"Because he asked me to." John sighed heavily.

"How—how far along are you?" he wondered.

"Little over a month." He sat back and I looked over at him.

"Have you been to a doctor or anything?" I shook my head.

"Sherlock didn't want anyone to know until Janine was out of the picture," I said quietly. "I wasn't even allowed to tell you. I shouldn't have—Sherlock will be so angry with me for telling." I started to cry again. John rubbed my back and shushed me.

"Everything is going to be okay," he assured me. "I promise."

* * *

Our wait seemed to drag on for hours but it really hadn't been all that long. John was staring at the entrance to the waiting area. Every time someone approached he would jump to his feet but even when it _was_ a doctor it always for someone else. I had managed to stop crying and was just staring blankly at the opposite wall with my chin on my knees.

A sinking feeling settled into my stomach.

' _He died,_ ' my mind insisted. ' _He's lying on an operating table, dead, right now._ ' Fresh tears spilled from my eyes.

 _"_ _It's raining, it's pouring, Sherlock is boring,"_ Moriarty's voice sang in my head. _"I'm laughing, I'm crying, Sherlock is dying!"_ I put my hands over my ears and shut my eyes tightly. I tried to block it out but it kept repeating no matter what I did.

* * *

"Doctor Watson?" a voice asked. John and I scrambled to our feet as a doctor approached us.

"How—how is he?" John asked hesitantly. The doctor smiled tiredly.

"We lost him for a moment but as soon as we started to call time of death he surprised us all and pulled through." John laughed tearfully and wiped his eyes.

"Oh thank god," he sighed. "Thank god." I grabbed John in a hug and held him tightly.

"He's okay," I laughed as happy tears streaked down my face. "He's really okay."

"He's asking for a Mary," the doctor told us looking at me questioningly. "Are you…?"

"No, Mary is my wife," John answered. "She'll be here any minute." I realized for the first time that Mary _wasn't_ here and I wondered where she had been. John's mobile started ringing and he smiled.

"That's her," he said. "I'll go meet her."

"I'm going to sit here for a minute," I decided. "I need to calm down a bit before I see Sherlock." John nodded and headed out of the room.

* * *

I stood outside of Sherlock's room, hesitant to go inside.

' _Is this how he felt?_ ' I wondered. ' _Those times I nearly died and he was the one going into a hospital room?_ ' Mary had already been in to see him. So had John. They had said he was barely conscious from all the pain meds and everything.

"Go on," John's voice urged from behind me. I turned to him, giving him a weak smile.

"I will," I said. "I just—um—I need a minute."

"Rei, he's _all right_. He needs to see you and you need to see him. So get in there." With a nod, I opened the door and stepped into the room. The constant beeping of the heart monitor was a comfort. I liked the audible reminder that Sherlock's heart was beating.

"Sherlock?" I called quietly as I approached the side of his bed. "You awake?" He groaned softly and pried his eyes open.

"Rei—Reilen?" His voice was slurred from the morphine but it was enough to cause a sob to burst out of my mouth. I pulled a chair up to the bed and dropped into it.

" _Sherlock_ ," I blubbered. "I was so afraid that you—" I grabbed his hand and clung to it.

"We've got to stop doing this to each other. It's really not healthy." I expected a weak chuckle and some quip about how it kept our relationship exciting. Instead, he grasped my hand tightly and turned his head, his eyes glassy but trying to focus.

"Mary…" he said.

"Mary?" I repeated. The morphine must have him confused. Maybe he'd forgotten that she'd already been in to see him.

"She's just been in. Do you need me to get her? I can tell her to—" He is grip tightened on my hand.

" _Mary_..." he repeated more urgently this time. His hold on my hand loosened. The morphine was pulling him under again but he was upset. I could see that.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" I asked searching his face, suddenly very worried although I had no idea why.

" _Mary_ …" His voice was growing softer. "Shot…" _Me_. The end of the sentence slammed through my mind without him having to say it. All of my thoughts came to a screeching halt.

" _Mary_!?" I gasped. " _Mary did this_!?" My first thought was that we had to tell John. Who the _hell_ had he married!?

" _Don't_ …" Sherlock's voice pulled my attention back to him. "Don't…tell..."

"We _have_ to!" I argued. "John deserves to know!" Sherlock shook his head weakly.

"Not…yet…" he insisted. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"All right," I agreed. "All right. You rest, now. I'll be here when you wake up." Sherlock stopped fighting the morphine and slipped back into unconsciousness, his grip on my hand finally going limp. With a sigh, I settled into my chair. I meant what I had said. I wasn't leaving the hospital until he did.


	33. A Damp Touch

Chapter 33: A Damp Touch

Over the course of the next day, flowers were delivered to Sherlock's room from all over. Molly sent sunflowers. My family sent an assorted bouquet that the twins had probably picked out. I had informed my parents of the situation, letting them know that Sherlock and I had never really been broken up, that it had all been for a case (I didn't mention the pregnancy). They were less than thrilled that I had lied to them but were happy that Sherlock had survived nonetheless.

* * *

"John'll be in after his shift," I told Sherlock as I fixed his blankets. "The twins have asked to visit but I told them you had to be feeling a bit better first." My sisters were much too excitable around Sherlock for them to be here while he was still heavily dependent on morphine. Although they had matured quite a bit in the last three years, I still thought that twelve was still a bit too young to be seeing someone who had just been shot. They could come by the flat after Sherlock was discharged.

"Mmm," Sherlock mumbled tiredly in response. I leaned over and kissed his forehead.

"Go to sleep," I told him. "Stop fighting the meds on my account."

"Missed you…" he mumbled. I brushed his dark curls off of his forehead.

"I was only gone five minutes," I replied. "It's not as though I popped off to see a movie." I'd really been gone approximately three and a half minutes. Just long enough to give John his hourly update on Sherlock.

"I meant…" he struggled for a moment to stay awake. "All this time…for the…case…" I knew it was just the morphine making him so sentimental but it was still enough to make me tear up.

"I missed you too," I murmured. "Now go to sleep." A small smile crossed his lips as he drifted off. I settled into my chair and picked up the book John had brought from the flat. There wasn't much to do while Sherlock was sleeping except for read. The television had to be kept at such a low volume that there was no real point in watching it.

* * *

The sound of the door opening woke me. Sleepily, I figured that it was John or perhaps one of the nurses. I'd drifted off while reading, my head propped up on one hand, my elbow on the arm of the chair. My other hand was on the bed, under Sherlock's hand, and his fingers tightened around mine.

' _Something's wrong,_ ' I realized.

"They're not all from me," Magnussen's voice said. I sat up and opened my mouth to tell him to _get out_ but Sherlock's fingers tightened around mine again, warning me to be quiet. Magnussen closed the door and looked around.

"The struggling carnations are from Scotland Yard," he said pointing to one of the vases. He looked across the room.

"And the single rose is from…" He walked across the room to look more closely at the vase with a single red rose in it directly across from Sherlock's bed, a card propped against it. " _W_." It was from Irene. How she knew that Sherlock was in hospital I had no idea.

"And the black wreath," he continued. "C Block, Pentonville . I'm not sure the intent was entirely kindly." He sat down in the chair on the other side of Sherlock's bed. I watched as he stroked Sherlock's hand, wanting to shout at him but holding off because Sherlock clearly wanted me to stay quiet.

"Oh, I _covet_ your hands, Mr. Holmes," Magnussen said. "Though since you've survived, I suppose you get to keep them." He lifted Sherlock's arm from the bed and removed the pulse oximeter from Sherlock's pointer finger.

"Look at them," he said although I didn't know if he was just talking to himself or to the two of us. "The musician's hands." He caressed Sherlock's fingers and I ground my teeth together to keep quiet.

"An artist's." He leaned down, opened his mouth slightly, and pressed it over one of Sherlock's knuckles _. I was going to crack my teeth if I kept grinding them._ Sherlock's breathing sped up and Magnussen lifted his head.

"A _woman's_?" he suggested. Sherlock sluggishly pulled his hand free of Magnussen's grip and let it fall back onto the bed. Once Magnussen was no longer touching him his breathing slowed.

"Apologies for the dampness of my touch." Magnussen rubbed his hands together. "You'll get used to it." I wanted to crawl out of my skin. The way he looked at Sherlock…Moriarty had looked at both of us that way but it was somehow worse coming from Magnussen.

"Having shot you the woman you know as Mary Watson _left_ without killing me." He replaced the pulse oximeter but put it on Sherlock's middle finger instead. "Which is odd, because that was reason she came." He stood and leaned over Sherlock, their faces inches apart. Sherlock's breathing sped up again. His grip on my fingers became painful. He wasn't just uncomfortable or angry. He was _frightened_.

Flashes of Moriarty hovering over me…wiping the tears from my cheeks…turning my face whichever way he wanted…chuckling in my ear…flew through my mind. The black door in my mind palace creaked open just a crack but that was all it needed to flood my body with fear. My breath caught in my throat and my fingers tightened around Sherlock's.

"I didn't pass on her identity to the police," he told Sherlock. "Information like that is just too…" He ran his nose over the end of Sherlock's.

" _Malleable_ to be shared. Wouldn't you agree?" Sherlock's breathing was slowing. His grip on my fingers weakened.

' _The morphine's kicking in again,_ ' I realized frantically. ' _No, Sherlock, don't leave me alone! Stay awake,_ _ **please**_ _!_ ' Magnussen straightened and turned to me.

"Good day, Ms. Turner." He smiled and I flinched. I knew that smile. I'd seen it every day for two months. It was a smile that brought pain. Magnussen chuckled and strode out of the room, shutting the door behind him. I looked to Sherlock and saw his eyes flutter open for a moment before closing again, his fingers going limp in my tight grip. He was out and I was alone.

' _Call John,_ ' I thought as my breathing raced along with my heartbeat. ' ** _Call John_** _!_ ' No, I couldn't do that. I couldn't have him leave his shift, race over here, and…do what? Magnussen was gone. John couldn't know about what had been said about Mary and there was no reason to have him leave work just because I wanted someone to hold my hand while I had a panic attack. I _needed_ someone to hold my hand though.

' _No,_ ' I insisted to myself. ' _I'm an adult. I need to_ _ **act**_ _like one and not go crying to Sherlock and John every time I'm afraid. They can't hold my hand forever._ ' Getting to my feet, I grabbed a handful of alcohol wipes and wiped down Sherlock's arm, hand, his nose, and the pulse oximeter. With that done, I grabbed a handful of disinfectant wipes and wiped down the chair and the door handle, inside and out. Everything Magnussen touched had been wiped clean.

I returned to my seat and closed my eyes. The memories needed to be put back where they belonged and the door needed to be shut and locked. It was painful, trying to wrestle those things back into that room after not thinking about them for so long.

 _They looked like spiders. They scurried down the hallway, tiny at first but as they neared me they grew. The sounds, the smells, the feelings they each carried roared around my mind palace. All I had to catch them with was a jar._

 _"_ _It's not enough!" I whimpered, cowering before the spiders as they grew to fill the hallway._

 _"_ _Of course it is." Sherlock appeared beside me. "You don't need anything bigger than that."_

 _"_ _They won't fit in_ _ **this**_ _!" I shouted through my tears brandishing the jar at him. More spiders were escaping as the door opened wider. They grew in size. There were eight, then ten, then fourteen…Moriarty's laughter filled the hallway._

 _"_ _I may be dead, little mouse," he called in his singsong voice. "But I'll live_ _ **forever**_ _in here."_ _I sank to my knees as the spiders towered over me, their fangs dripping with a liquid that released the sounds of my sobbing and pleading into the air each time a drop hit the floor._

 _"_ _ **Make**_ _them fit!" Sherlock ordered grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet. "Make them small and inconsequential. They are memories, Reilen, nothing more. They have no real power."_

 _"_ _Yes they do!" I sobbed. "They're going to let_ _ **him**_ _out!"_

 _"_ _ **Because you're letting them**_ _!" He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me forward, crushing me against him in a hug._

 _"_ _ **You**_ _are the master of your own mind, Reilen," he said quietly, insistently, into my ear. "_ _ **No one**_ _has power here but you._ _ **Focus. Make them fit**_ _." I closed my eyes tightly and thought only of Sherlock. Of John. Of the flat and the holiday in Ireland. Of my parents and siblings._ _ **Of the baby**_ _._

 _Opening my eyes, I saw that the spiders were tiny once again and filing into the jar in an orderly fashion. As the last one crawled in I screwed on the lid and went to door at the end of the hall. I threw the jar inside where I heard it break. That was fine. They could scurry around all they liked in there. I slammed the door and locked it up tight._

 _"_ _You see?" Sherlock asked. "All you needed was focus…"_

"Ms. Turner?" a nurse's voice called. I felt a hand on my shoulder and my eyes snapped open.

"Are you all right?" she asked. I blinked and Sherlock's hospital room came into focus.

"Yes," I said quickly wiping the tears from my cheeks. "Yes. Sorry. I'm fine. Excuse me for just a moment." I stepped into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face. When I came back the nurse was gone so I sat back down and went back to reading.

* * *

Several days later Sherlock was well enough to be taken off the nasal cannula and his morphine was reduced significantly.

"I'm going to get some tea," I said. "Maybe some crisps. Want anything?"

"No, I'm fine." Sherlock's voice was no longer a slurred mumble which pleased me to no end. I had missed his voice.

"Okay. Be right back."

I ran into Molly in the cafeteria and we chatted about how Sherlock was feeling for several minutes while I waited in line at the vending machine which dispensed hot drinks. "I'm glad he's all right," she said happily. "Any word on who shot him?"

"No," I lied easily. "None." Molly fiddled with the space where her engagement ring used to be.

"Couldn't work things out with Tom?" I guessed.

"No," she sighed. "Stabbing him in the back of the hand with a fork sort of ruined things." I nodded as I reached the front of the line, deposited my money, and selected my beverage.

"He wasn't all that bright," I added. "I mean—a _meat dagger_?" Molly pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Oh, I know!" she groaned. "He really thought that was the answer!" We said goodbye and I went back up to Sherlock's room.

Janine was walking out of the room as I approached.

"What are _you_ doing here?" I demanded. She smirked and held up her hands.

"Oh calm down," she scoffed. "I was just leaving. I only wanted to wish Sherlock a speedy recovery."

"You leave him alone!" I hissed. "Do you hear me?"

"No problem there, sweetheart," she replied. "I've made enough money off of him to move to the country." I had seen the headlines. She had made up all sorts of stories about her "wild sex life" with Sherlock. I knew for a fact that he'd never slept with her.

"I don't care where you go," I ground out. "Just don't ever come round Sherlock again!" She chucked and I stormed past her.

"You know," she called causing me to turn back. "You didn't fool me." Her gaze flicked to my stomach and back to my face. I clenched my fists, turned on my heel, and marched into Sherlock's room.

"Are you all right?" I asked. He was paler than when I had left.

"Fine," he promised. "Janine turned off my morphine but I've got it started again." Sighing, I put my tea on the bed tray and sat down in my chair.

"She knew," I told him. "About the baby."

"She didn't tell the papers," he assured me. "Wouldn't have gotten her anything so it was unimportant."

"I told John," I said. "The night you were shot. I'm sorry—I know I wasn't supposed to."

"It's all right. It wasn't fair of me to ask you to hide it from _everyone_. John is quite capable of keeping a secret."

"We really ought to start thinking of names," I pointed out. "And I need to get in to see a doctor. I've not had any of the usual check-ups or vitamins."

"I was thinking Sherlock, for a boy," he suggested. I laughed and shook my head.

"One Sherlock in the world is enough for now, don't you think?"

"There's always William," he replied with a smile.

"Where'd that come from?" I wondered. "It's not 'cause of Bill Wiggins, is it?" There was _no way_ I was naming our child after Sherlock's drug dealer. Sherlock chuckled.

"No," he promised. "Of course not. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, that's the whole of it."

"You're first name is _William_?" I cried. " _How_ have you never told me that?" Sherlock shrugged.

"When my parents brought me home as an infant Mycroft decided that 'William' was a name that would make me normal, he didn't want me to be a _goldfish_ , so he called me Sherlock and I took to the name as he refused to call me anything else. My parents followed suit."

"You're parents let a seven-year-old _rename_ their infant?" I questioned raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"Mycroft already had an extraordinary intellect, even at that age. They chose not to try and argue with him knowing that he would win any argument they came up with."

"So William for the first name," I decided. "And the middle name?"

"Michael is rather nice," he offered.

"William Michael then," I said. "And if it's a girl?"

"Sherlock is actually a girl's name," he replied.

"Not it's not!" I laughed.

"No," Sherlock laughed. "It's not. I've never given much thought to the appropriate name for a girl." I thought for a moment.

"I've always like the name Alexandra," I suggested. "We could use Jane for a middle name. That's my middle name, after all."

"Alexandra Jane," Sherlock said. "That's sounds nice, actually." I beamed at him. This was the farthest we'd gotten, planning wise, and it made me feel better knowing the baby at least had a name.


	34. The Truth Comes Out

Chapter 34: The Truth Comes Out

"I need you to go get something to eat," Sherlock said several hours later. "I have a meeting I need to get to and some things to set up."

"Why does that mean I have to go get something to eat?" I questioned.

"John is bringing Lestrade to ask me about the shooting," he explained. "If you help me leave then he's going to yell at both of us and there's no sense in you getting into trouble for my decisions."

"Just be careful," I requested. "Don't make your injuries worse." He nodded.

"I'll let you know when you can join me," he replied. I left the room and went down to the cafeteria.

* * *

On my way back to Sherlock's room I ran into John and Lestrade.

"Hi Reilen," Lestrade greeted me. "Have you left at all since Sherlock's been here?" I shook my head.

"I have to keep him in line," I joked. "Or else he'll drive the staff insane."

"How's he feeling?" Lestrade asked. "Any better?"

"I don't know how much sense you'll get out of him," John replied before I could. "He's drugged up, so he's pretty much babbling."

"He's not that bad!" I protested before remembering that Sherlock always turned his morphine up before John visited. I assumed it was his way of making sure nothing was said to John about the shooting. Lestrade pulled out his mobile.

"Oh," John noticed. "They won't let you use that in here, you know."

"No, I'm not gonna use the phone," Lestrade replied. "I just want to take a video." John chuckled and I rolled my eyes. John opened the door to Sherlock's room and we followed him in. The room was empty.

"Oh Jesus," he swore. The window was open, the blinds moving slightly with the breeze. John and Lestrade exchanged frustrated glances.

"Where's he gone?" John demanded rounding on me. I shrugged.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "He was here when I went to get a bite to eat." He began pacing as he pulled out his mobile.

"You had _no idea_ he was going to do this?" he asked. "We have to find him."

"I'm not all that surprised, to be honest," Lestrade said.

"I'm calling Mary," John snapped. "Maybe she can help track him down."

"I'll go back to the flat," I suggested. "Maybe he'll turn up there." I left before John could stop me. Lestrade would call Mycroft. They would talk to Anderson and Molly. They wouldn't find him though, not until he was ready.

I climbed into a cab and dialed Sherlock's number.

"Where are you?" I asked when he answered.

"Not now, Reilen," he snapped. "I told you I'd call when I was ready."

"Sherlock, I need to know—" He hung up before I could finish. With a frustrated sigh, I shoved my mobile back into my coat pocket.

The cab let me off at Baker Street and I headed inside.

* * *

John arrived at the flat a short while later.

"Mrs. Hudson?" he called causing me to come down the stairs just as Mrs. Hudson was coming out of her flat.

"No luck?" I guessed.

"What's the matter, John?" she wondered.

"Sherlock's gone missing," John filled her in, sitting down on the stairs and pulling out a small notepad. "We're trying to find him. Do you know anywhere he likes to hide out?" She listed off a few places.

"Behind the clock face of Big Ben," she added. John paused in his writing.

"I think he was probably joking," he pointed out.

"No, I don't think so," she insisted.

"He took me there once," I piped up.

"I doubt he'd go there," John sighed. "Not with his injuries." We headed upstairs and were joined by Lestrade a while later. He and Mycroft had had no luck in finding Sherlock. Mary was still out looking. I had noticed right off when I had come upstairs earlier that John's chair had returned to its rightful spot but John didn't even glance at it. There was a bottle of perfume on the table beside it. Claire de la Lune. _Mary's perfume_.

"He _knew_ who shot him," John said as he paced around the living room. "The bullet wound was here." He pointed to his own chest.

"So he was facing whoever it was."

"So, why not tell us?" Lestrade asked. "Because he's tracking them down himself…"

"Or protecting them?" John cut in.

"Protecting the shooter, why?" Lestrade questioned.

' _Good question,_ ' I huffed to myself.

"Well, protecting _someone_ , then," John replied going over to his chair. "But he's _Sherlock_ , who would he bother protecting?" He dropped into his chair and then seemed to suddenly realize that it was back where it belonged.

' _Oh, I don't know. Me, Mrs. Hudson,_ _ **you**_ _!_ ' I was dying to tell John what was going on. I didn't like keeping things from him.

"Call me if you hear anything," Lestrade requested. "Don't hold out on me, John. Call me, okay?"

"Yeah," John replied distractedly. "Yeah, right."

"Rei, same goes for you, yeah?" Lestrade asked me. I nodded.

"Of course," I agreed.

"Okay, good night then." He headed down the stairs.

"Bye then," Mrs. Hudson called. She turned and looked at John who was running his hands over the arms of his chair.

"John," she sighed. "Need a cuppa?" She went into the kitchen to start the tea. John turned around to look at her.

"Mrs. Hudson, w—why," he cleared his throat. "Why does Sherlock think I'll be moving back in here?"

"Oh, yes, he's put your chair back again, hasn't he?" she noticed. "That's nice, looks much better."

"Rei, do you have any idea?" he asked me.

"No," I lied. "Maybe he just missed having it there." John noticed the bottle of perfume.

"John, what's wrong?" Mrs. Hudson asked coming over with the kettle still in her hand. "Tell me." John didn't answer. He just stared at the bottle. A quiet buzzing came from across the room.

"That's your phone, isn't it?" she asked him going and picking it up from the table. "It's Sherlock, John. It's Sherlock." She held his phone out to him but he just stared at it.

" _John_!" she said insistently. "You have to answer it!" He stared at the bottle of perfume for a moment longer and then took the phone from her.

"Hello?" he asked. "Sherlock, where are you?" His brow furrowed as he listened to whatever Sherlock was saying.

"Leinster Gardens?" he replied. "Why would I meet you there? What do you mean you'll explain everything soon? Sherlock, _what the hell is going on_!?" He paused again as Sherlock answered him.

"Yes, all right. _Yes_! I'll be there. Yes, fine, I'll put her on." He held his mobile out to me and I took it from him.

"Sherlock?" I asked.

"Reilen, listen to me," he instructed. "Go with John. I'm going to get Mary to admit to the truth. Do you think you can handle being here for that?"

"Of course," I answered.

"All right then, I'll see you soon." He hung up and I handed the mobile back to John. Sherlock had sounded out of breath. That wasn't good. He was putting his body through too much stress.

"Let's go," John said and together we left the flat.

* * *

At Leinster Gardens Sherlock took John inside a set of the houses, making me wait outside.

"What's going on?" I demanded when he came back out. Sherlock exhaled sharply.

"I've set John up as a decoy," he explained. "She's going to think she's talking to me. It's the only way I can get him to believe me. I've got no other evidence to support my claims." With Magnussen using this information to his own benefit I knew there was no hope of getting him to corroborate Sherlock's story.

"Okay," I said. "What do you need me to do?" Sherlock glanced at his mobile and grabbed my arm.

"Come with me." He pulled me inside the houses. The houses wasn't houses at all but was instead a pretty façade to cover the fact that ventilation for the Underground was hidden inside. He situated us behind some pipes and dialed a number on his mobile.

"Where are you?" Mary's voice questioned.

"Can't you see me?" Sherlock replied. I stood as close to him as possible so that I could hear her responses.

"Well, what am I looking for?" she wondered.

"The lie," he told her. "The lie of Leinster Gardens hidden in plain sight. Hardly anyone notices, people live here for _years_ and never see it. But if you _are_ what I think you are, it'll take you less than a minute. The _houses_ , Mary. Look at the houses."

"How did you know I'd come here?" she asked.

"Well, I knew you'd talk to the people no one else would bother with," he explained. She scoffed quietly.

"I thought I was being clever," she noted.

"You're always clever Mary, I was relying on that. I _planted_ the information for you to find." It had always surprised me how clever Mary was because her cleverness seemed to pop up when I wasn't expecting it. _Like how she knew what a skip code was_.

" _Ohhh_!" she exclaimed.

"Thirty seconds," Sherlock told her.

"What am I looking at?" she asked.

"No door knobs, no letterbox, painted windows," he listed. "23 and 24 Leinster Gardens, the empty houses. They were demolished years ago to make way for the London Underground. _Vents_ for the old steam trains. Only the very front section of the house remains, it's just a façade. Remind you of anyone, Mary?" Sherlock's voice was getting ragged. He wasn't in good shape.

' _Nothing I can do about that_ _ **now**_ _,_ ' I told myself. ' _This needs settled._ '

"A _façade_ ," Sherlock continued and there was a ' _thunk_ ' outside. "Sorry, I never could resist a touch of drama. Do come in, it's a little cramped."

"Do you own this place?" Mary questioned.

" _Mmm_ ," Sherlock agreed. "I won it in a card game with the Clarence House cannibal. Nearly cost me my kidneys but fortunately, I had a straight flush. Quite a gambler that woman." The front door opened and Mary stepped inside. Sherlock shifted the two of us further into the shadows. Mary looked around the small space and spotted something at the far end of the long narrow hallway.

"What'd you want, Sherlock?" she demanded thinking that he was down there.

"Mary Morstan was stillborn in October, 1972," he answered. "Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery, where five years ago, you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter, her identity." Mary moved slowly down the hallway.

"That's why you don't have friends from before that date," Sherlock concluded.

 _"_ _Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin."  
"Oh, orphan's lot. Friends, that's all I have." _

"It's an old enough technique," Sherlock went on. "Known to the kinds of people who can recognize a skip code on sight."

 _"_ _At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam, but it's_ _ **not**_ _. It's a skip code."_

"And extraordinarily retentive memories."

 _"_ _ **How**_ _can you not remember which room? You remember everything."_

 _"_ _I have to delete_ _ **something**_ _!"_

 _"_ _207!"_

"You were very slow," Mary responded.

"How _good_ a shot are you?" Sherlock asked.  
"How badly do you wanna find out?" she demanded. The sound of a gun cocking echoed through the tight space. I tensed. If she fired a shot it would hit John. It would _kill John_. I grabbed Sherlock's arm but he shook his head at me.

"If I die here my body will be found in a building with your _face_ projected on the front of it," he reminded her. "Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that."

"I want to know how good you are," he told her. "Go on, show me. The doctor's wife must be a _little bit_ bored by now." I peeked around the pipes and saw her digging in her pocket. She flipped a coin into the air and shot rang out. Mary turned her head away as the shell casing and the coin hit the floor. Sherlock stepped from the shadows but motioned for me to stay out of sight. The ' _click_ ' his mobile made when he hung up was loud enough to make Mary turn around.

"May I see?" he requested. She turned to face him.

"A _dummy_?" she scoffed. "Well, I suppose that was a fairly obvious trick." She moved down the hallway toward Sherlock and kicked the coin over to him. He knelt down to retrieve it.

"And yet, over a distance of six feet you failed to make a kill shot," he pointed out, straightening up, and examining the coin. "Enough to hospitalize me, not enough to kill me." My hands were in tight fists at my side. I wanted so badly to fly down the hallway and pummel Mary for doing this to Sherlock. For doing this to John. She had hurt my _family_ and that was not something I took lightly.

Sherlock drew in a breath and I focused on him to keep myself in check.

"That wasn't a miss," he concluded. "That was _surgery_." They were silent for a long moment.

"I'll take the case," he said at last.

"What case?" Mary asked, shaking her head, seeming to scoff at him for even offering.

" _Yours_ ," he answered. "Why didn't you come to me in the first place?" I was wondering that myself. Mary _had_ to have known that Sherlock—that _we_ would have helped her.

"Because John can't ever know that I lied to him," Mary responded. "It would break him and I would lose him forever and Sherlock, I will _never_ let that happen."

' _So you'd rather take his best friend away from him instead?_ ' I shook my head in disgust. With a flick of his fingers Sherlock motioned for me to join him. Mary's eyes widened as I stepped out from behind the pipes.

"Reilen." She took a step toward me but I moved back, shaking my head and glaring at her.

"Don't," I bit out. "Just… _don't_."

"Please," she called. "Understand. There is nothing in this world I would not do to stop that happening." Sherlock turned away from her.

"Sorry," he replied. "Not that obvious a trick." He hit the light switch and the lights in the hallway illuminated the space. Mary stared at us, drawing in shaky breaths.

" _Oh_ ," she breathed. Finally, she turned, gasping when she saw John sitting at the other end of the hallway. John stood and fixed his hair which he must have mussed so that he looked more like Sherlock.

"Now, talk," Sherlock commanded. "And sort it out, and do it quickly." John turned down his coat collar and came towards us but stopped before he reached Mary. The four of us stood in the hallway for a moment that seemed to go on forever. John took a deep breath and brushed past Mary, storming from the house. Sherlock, Mary, and I followed.

* * *

John stormed into the flat ahead of us. I helped Sherlock as he struggled up the stairs.

"John," Mrs. Hudson's voice said from inside the flat. "Mary." Mary had walked in ahead of us. Sherlock paused at the top of the stairs. He was pale and out of breath.

"C'mon," I murmured to him. "Let's get you inside."

"Oh, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson exclaimed worriedly as we shuffled inside. "Oh good gracious, you look _terrible_."

"Get me some morphine from your kitchen," he commanded. "I've run out."

"I don't have any morphine," she replied. "Herbal soothers", yes. Morphine, no.

"Then what _exactly is_ the point of you!?" Sherlock shouted at her. I knew he was only behaving this way because he was in pain but that was still no way to talk to Mrs. Hudson.

"Sherlock," I hissed at him.

" _What_ is going on?" Mrs. Hudson demanded.

"Bloody good question," John muttered.

"The Watsons are about to have a domestic," Sherlock explained. "And fairly quickly, I hope, because we've got work to do." John turned to Mary who was standing beside the fireplace.

"No, I have a better question," John snapped looking right at his wife as he took a few steps toward her. "Is _everyone_ I have _ever_ met a psychopath?" Sherlock seemed to ponder this.

"Yes," he answered.

"I'm not!" I argued.

"You're awfully close at times," Sherlock replied. Mary thought for a minute and then nodded in agreement.

"Good that we've settled that," Sherlock quipped. "Now we need…"

" _SHUT UP_!" John roared rounding on Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson took a step away from John.

"And stay shut up," he ordered in a normal tone. "Because _this_ is _not_ funny. Not this time."

"I didn't say it was _funny_ ," Sherlock replied. John turned back to Mary.

" _You_ …" he ground out. "What have I ever done? Hmm? My whole life, to deserve _you_?" I hated this. I hated that John's heart was breaking. I hated that Mary had done this to him. I hated that there was nothing I could do to help him through this.

"Everything," Sherlock answered John's question.

"Sherlock, I told you, _shut up_." John walked toward the two of us looking like he might punch Sherlock in the face.

"No, I mean it," Sherlock insisted. "Seriously. Everything. Everything you've ever done is what you did."

"Sherlock, one more word and you will not need morphine," John threatened. I had never seen John look at Sherlock like this before. And I knew Sherlock would keep on. He always did.

"You were a doctor who went to war," Sherlock reminded John and I grabbed his arm, trying to shut him up. "You're a man who couldn't stay in the suburbs for more than a month without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie. Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high. That's me, by the way. Hello." He raised his hand in a tired wave.

"Even the _landlady_ used to run a drug cartel," he pointed out.

"It was my _husband's_ cartel," Mrs. Hudson snapped. "I was just _typing_."

"And exotic dancing," Sherlock added.

"Sherlock Holmes, if you've been YouTubing…" she began. Sherlock bowed his head. His breathing was ragged. He _needed_ to sit down.

"Sherlock, sit," I ordered quietly.

"John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle," he said over Mrs. Hudson and me. "You're abnormally attracted to dangerous situations a people, so is it truly such a surprise that the woman you fall in love with conforms to that pattern?"

"But she wasn't supposed to be like that!" John insisted hoarsely. "Why is _she_ like that?"

"Because _you_ chose her," Sherlock said quietly. They stared at each other.

"Why is everything _always_ …" John began turning away from Sherlock. " _MY FAULT_!" He shouted the last bit and kicked Sherlock's chair.

"Ooh, the _neighbors_!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed hurrying into the kitchen.

"John, listen," Sherlock said. "Be calm and answer me. _What_ is she?" John turned to Mary.

"My lying wife?" he guessed. Mary didn't even blink.

"No, what is she?"

"And the woman who is carrying my child and who has lied to me since the day I met her?" Mary was just staring at John. She looked cold, like she didn't particularly care that she was hurting the man she claimed to love.

"No," Sherlock said again. " _Not_ in this flat, not in the room. Right here, right now, _what is she_?" John inhaled sharply and turned back to us.

"Okay," he said. "Your way." He looked back at Mary and then back at us.

"Always your way," he snapped. He grabbed the chair we used for clients and sat it in its place between his and Sherlock's chairs.

"Sit," he commanded.

"Why?" Mary asked quietly.

"Because that's where they sit," he hissed at her. "The people who come in here with their stories. The—the clients. That's all you are now, Mary. You're a client. This is where you sit and talk and this is where we sit and listen. Then we decide if we want your or not." He sniffed, cleared his throat, and sat down in his chair. Sherlock went to his chair and sat down. I followed him and stood beside him. Mary watched us and after a moment she went and sat in the client's chair. She straitened her coat and smoothed down her jeans. Then, she put a flash drive on the table beside John's chair. A.G.R.A was written across the casing in black ink.

"A-G-R-A," Sherlock read. "What's that?" He was really out of breath now. He was going to need to go back to the hospital at this point.

"U—Uh…" Mary stammered. "My initials."

' _So even her_ _ **name**_ _is a lie!?_ '

"Everything about who I was is on there," Mary told John. "If you love me don't read it in front of me."

"Why?" John scoffed.

"Because you won't love me when you've finished," she replied. "And I don't want to see that happen." She looked like she was going to cry now. After everything else she had put John through _this_ is what made her want to cry? John sighed and snatched the flash drive off of the table and then stuffed it into his pocket.

"How much do you know already?" Mary demanded, turning to Sherlock now. The tearful look was gone.

"By your skill set, you are or _were_ an intelligence agent," he answered. "Your accent is currently English but I suspect you are not. You're on the run from something. You've used your skills to disappear. Magnussen knows your secret which is why you were going to kill him and I _assume_ you befriended Janine in order to get close to him." Sherlock's voice was growing thin and tight. He shifted in his seat, wincing in pain.

"Oh," Mary scoffed. "You can talk."

"Oh," John sneered. "Look at you two. You should have got married."

"The stuff Magnussen has on me," Mary said, ignoring John. "I would go to prison for the rest of my life."

"So you were just gonna kill him?" John asked.

"People like Magnussen _should_ be killed," she snapped back. "That's _why_ there are people like me." John thumped his fist down onto the arm of his chair.

"Perfect!" he responded sarcastically. "So that's what you were? An assassin? _How_ could I not see that?"

"You did see that," Mary told him. "And you married me. Because he's _right_. It's what you like."

"So, _Mary_ …" Sherlock said drawing in a slow breath. "Any documents Magnussen has concerning yourself, you want…extracted and returned."

"Why would you help me?" she wondered. I was wondering that myself.

"Because you saved my life," Sherlock answered simply.

"Sorry," John replied. "Sorry, what?" He looked at Sherlock and then at me. I shook my head, frowning at him and then at Sherlock. I had no idea what Sherlock meant by that.

"When I happened on you and Magnussen…" Sherlock paused and took several breaths. "You had a problem. More specifically, you had a _witness_. The solution, of course, was simple. Kill us both and leave. However, sentiment got the better of you. One precisely calculated shot to incapacitate me in the hope that it would bide you more time to negotiate my finds. Of course, you couldn't shoot Magnussen. On the night that both of us broke into the building your own husband would become a suspect so…You calculated that Magnussen would use the fact of your involvement rather than sharing the information with the police, as is his MO. And then you left the way you came. Have I missed anything?"

"How did she save your life?" John demanded quietly.

"She phoned the ambulance," Sherlock answered.

" _I_ phoned the ambulance," John countered.

" _She_ phoned first." Sherlock nodded at Mary. "You didn't find me for another five minutes. Left to you, I would have died. The averaged arrival time for a London ambulance is…" He checked his watch as several medics came rushing up the stairs.

"Did somebody call an ambulance?" one of them asked.

"Eight minutes," Sherlock concluded. "Did you bring any morphine? I asked on the phone."

"We were told there was a shooting," the medic said slowly, looking around in confusion.

"There was," Sherlock agreed. "Last week. But I believe I'm bleeding internally. My pulse is very erratic. You may need to restart my heart…" He stood and immediately collapsed.

"Sherlock!" I cried as John and I grabbed onto him.

"John…" he gasped, grabbing John's shoulders. "John… _John_! Magnussen in all that matters now. You can trust Mary. She saved my life."

" _She shot you_ ," John replied in a low voice.

"Uh…mixed messages," Sherlock allowed. "I grant you. That's a…" He shouted in pain and the medics pulled him down to the floor.

"Sherlock…" John said. "Sherlock. Take him."

"Got him?" one medic asked.

"Yeah," the other replied. Sherlock groaned in pain. John and I stood beside each other. John was breathing hard while I was trying not to hyperventilate. All we could do was stare at Sherlock.


	35. A New Situation

Chapter 35: A New Situation

Two weeks later, Sherlock was released from hospital and this time there was no risk of internal bleeding. I had moved all of my things back into our room. It was a good thing too because John had been staying at the flat ever since the truth had come out about Mary. He hardly spoke to her other than to check on the progress of her pregnancy.

I'd told everyone else that I was pregnant. My mother had cried for a solid five minutes, Dad had complained that he wasn't old enough to be a grandfather, Carlisle had shouted that he was an uncle at the top of his lungs, and the girls screamed so loudly that I was sure they would disturb the neighbors.

Molly and Mrs. Hudson cried and hugged me and then scolded me for not telling them sooner. Then, they scolded Sherlock (quite fiercely) for making me keep it a secret for so long.

Today, Sherlock and I had an appointment to check on the progress on _my_ pregnancy. I was three months along now and John insisted that I start seeing a doctor regularly.

"Hello, Reilen," the doctor said as she entered the room. "I'm Dr. Davis, how're we feeling today?"

"Fine," I answered. John had recommended Dr. Davis as she was also Mary's doctor and, as far as Sherlock and Mycroft could tell, perfectly trustworthy.

"Is this the father?" she guessed, eyeing Sherlock with a raised eyebrow. He was leaning against the wall across from me, not holding my hand or being overly enthusiastic about the prospect of his future child as some men would be.

"Yes," he drawled. "I trust my brother has been in contact about keeping this to yourself?" Dr. Davis huffed and crossed her arms.

"He has," she agreed. "But even if he hadn't all but _threatened_ my license, I couldn't reveal anything about Reilen's pregnancy. Doctor/patient confidentiality and all." Of course Sherlock could have pointed out that anyone could be persuaded to reveal confidential information…for the right price but I shot him a look and he refrained. I didn't want him (or Mycroft) scaring her off.

"He's just worried," I told her. "With being in the news so much as it is…we don't really want this out there yet."

"Everyone's entitled to a private life," she replied. "Dr. Watson said you hadn't had any prenatal care for the first trimester, is that correct?" I nodded and didn't offer an explanation as to why. Dr. Davies didn't ask either, so Mycroft or John must have explained things to her.

"I'm going to prescribe some prenatal vitamins," she said as she scribbled on a prescription pad. "Dr. Watson can fill them for you, if you like." I nodded and accepted the piece of paper.

We ran through my medical history, Sherlock's medical history, and the histories of both our families. Several tubes of blood were drawn for different tests. There was a lengthy discussion on what I could and could not eat, what medications I could and could not take, what to do if I got a fever…the list went on and on. Most of it I already knew from Sherlock being…well _Sherlock_ and from John fussing over Mary back when he was still speaking to her.

"That about covers it," Dr. Davies announced. "Let's take a look at your baby now, shall we?" I nodded excitedly. _This_ is what I had been waiting for. Sherlock moved away from the wall and came to stand beside me as Dr. Davies pushed up my shirt to reveal my stomach.

"The gel might be a bit cold," she warned as she squirted a glob of it onto my skin. She set the wand against my stomach and moved it in circles, spreading the gel. A steady thumping sound filled the air.

"There's the heartbeat," Dr. Davies said with a smile.

"Oh god." I felt the blood drain from my face. There was a second thudding, slightly faster than the other. I'd heard a sound like that before.

"What's the matter?" Sherlock asked.

"That—that other sound…" I began shakily.

"Oh, that's probably just an echo," Dr. Davies responded reassuringly. "Nothing to worry about."

"My—my mum's ultrasound sounded like that," I insisted. "When she was pregnant with my sisters." Dr. Davies grabbed my chart and squinted at it.

"You _do_ have a family history of twins, don't you?" she mused. "Let me pull up the picture. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about." She went to the computer and typed some things into it.

"Well," she said slowly after a minute. "It looks like you were right." She turned the screen so that we could see. Two sacs, each with a small blob inside of it, showed up in the grainy grey picture. I let out a slow breath. Dr. Davies wiped the gel from my stomach.

"We're having twins," I said in disbelief.

"You're having twins," Dr. Davies agreed. My face broke into a wide smile and I turned to Sherlock who had gone completely still. My smile faded.

"Sherlock?" I questioned. "You okay?" He gave me a curt nod.

"Is that all?" he asked, not looking at me but at the doctor. She nodded and printed out a picture of the ultrasound.

"The nurse at the front desk will set you up with your next appointment," she told me, handing over the picture.

"Thank you," I murmured as I took it and followed Sherlock out of the room.

* * *

He didn't say a word the whole way home. He wouldn't even look at me. I had nothing to go on as to what he was thinking.

"How'd it go?" John asked as we walked into the flat.

"It's twins." I handed him the ultrasound. John beamed at me and wrapped me in a hug.

"Congratulations!" he cried. Sherlock pushed past us and strode into the kitchen. John released me and looked after Sherlock.

"Why don't you go show Mrs. Hudson?" he suggested. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled." I nodded and retreated from the flat, not even bothering to look at Sherlock.

Mrs. Hudson was _beyond_ thrilled. She cried and hugged me and insisted that we sit and have tea and biscuits while discussing all manner of baby related topics.

"You'll have to pick out names, you know," she said as she sipped her tea.

"We _had_ two picked out," I sighed. "Alexandra for a girl and William for a boy. But I suppose we'll have to come up with two more names now in case they're both the same."

"How's Sherlock taking it?" she wanted to know. I rolled my eyes and pushed my tea away from me.

"He won't even look at me. I have no idea what's going on in his head."

"He'll come around dear." Mrs. Hudson patted my hand. "Just give him time."

* * *

As I went up the stairs to the flat I could hear John and Sherlock talking in low voices in the living room. I moved against the wall and edged into the kitchen through the side door.

"Sherlock, you have to _talk_ to her," John insisted. "You can't just freeze her out."

"Look at me," Sherlock snapped through gritted teeth. "Look at my hands. I'm shaking. Scared of two _blobs_ in a photo." He was nearly hyperventilating. He was close to a panic attack, I knew from my own experience, but he would never start crying the way I did. All of his fear would be channeled into anger.

"Well, it's a new situation for you," John responded gently. Sherlock took a sip of something. It was scotch or whiskey, whatever was in the decanter in the china cabinet. Sherlock drank far less than either John or me but when he was scared…When we'd had the case in Baskerville about the "mutant" hound he'd been afraid then too. He'd had several drinks at the pub and gotten into a row with John.

" _A new situation_ ," Sherlock scoffed bitterly drawing me back to the present conversation. "Tell me, John, how are you dealing your _new situation_?" John exhaled sharply.

"It's not the same and you know it," he replied. "Mary _lied_ to me about—about _everything_. Reilen didn't _lie_ Sherlock, not to you. And she only lied to everyone else because you told her to. She's _pregnant_. She's carrying _your children_. You need to treat her better than this."

"But I didn't want _this_!" Sherlock snarled slamming his glass down on the table. "I didn't want _one_ child, let alone _two_!"

"Sherlock," John said quietly. "It's not the end of the world."

"Oh no?" Sherlock demanded. "How will I go on cases? Should we bring them along with us?"

"You can get a sitter," John pointed out. "I'm sure Mrs. Hudson would be happy to watch them whenever you needed."

"I am accustomed to a certain lifestyle," Sherlock ground out. "One that cannot accommodate _children_!" A tear slipped silently down my cheek. Without giving myself time to think through what I was doing, I slipped down the hallway and into our bedroom. I grabbed a duffle bag and shoved handfuls of clothes into it, leaving the dresser drawers and the closet wide open.

Sherlock and John were still arguing in low voices and neither of them noticed as I walked back out of the side door and down the stairs.

I called my mother from the cab and told her I wanted to go to the house in Ireland for a while. She didn't mind and since it was almost the weekend she said she and my father would take the twins out of school for a few days and meet me there.

* * *

"I don't understand," Mum said when we were all gathered at the house a few days later. "Why didn't Sherlock come with you?"

"Isn't he excited about the twins?" Talon wondered.

"Girls, go in the other room," I snapped irritably. My sisters had been peppering me with questions ever since they had arrived and I had reached my limit. She and Octavia stomped out of the room.

"He'll um—he'll be by later," I lied to my mother. "Just finishing up something for a case."

"I bet he was pretty shocked when you two found out it was twins," she noted staring lovingly at my stomach. "Your dad was the same way."

"Yeah," I muttered. "Yeah he was."

"Are you all right, darling?" Mum tucked a stand of hair behind my ear.

"Yeah, Mum," I assured her. "I'm uh—I'm just going to go for a walk. I'll be back later." I headed out into the backyard and made my way into the woods.

* * *

' _It wasn't supposed to be like this,_ ' I thought as I wound my way through the trees. I had ruined everything. Sherlock didn't want the twins. He didn't even want _one_ baby. I knew that. I had known that when I told him that I wanted to keep the baby. And he'd agreed. _But he didn't want them._

I wasn't the type to demand that he stay and help me raise our children, not if he didn't want to be there. But how was I supposed to do it alone? I'd have my family, I knew that. And John and Mrs. Hudson.

' _And Mary, I suppose. If she and John ever make up._ ' I wanted _Sherlock_ though. I didn't expect him to suddenly become all domestic. I didn't' think for one second that he would give up his work. I didn't even expect him to want to marry me, although, I knew that my parents wanted us to get married. I didn't expect any of that. I just wanted him to be happy. _I_ wanted to at least be happy about the babies. With the way things were I couldn't even do that.

* * *

It was dark by the time I headed back to the house. About halfway home my stomach began to cramp painfully. I'd left my mobile in the kitchen so my only choice was to try to get home as quickly as possible.

When I reached the edge of the backyard I saw Sherlock through the kitchen window. He was helping my sisters with the dishes. He looked up as I moved across the yard and hurried outside.

"Where were you?" he demanded quietly as he reached me. "I was worried about you."

"What're you doing here?" I replied stepping away from him when he reached out to touch my arm. "Why are you here, Sherlock?" My voice trembled and I was shaking. I was nearly doubled over in pain.

"Reilen, what's wrong?" His eyebrows knitted together and he grabbed my shoulder. I was starting to feel lightheaded. Something was wrong. Something was very _very_ wrong.

"The babies…" My legs gave out and Sherlock caught me, lowering me to the ground.

"Reilen," he said firmly. "Reilen, look at me." His hand brushed my hair off of my face.

"Something's wrong…" I felt myself falling unconscious. "Sherlock…"

* * *

"…there was some bleeding," a male voice was saying as I regained consciousness. "We're going to keep her overnight and then she'll need to rest at home for a few days. Everything looks fine, though."

"Thank you," Sherlock's voice murmured. I opened my eyes and a hospital room came into focus.

"Sherlock?" I called hoarsely. He grabbed my hand and appeared in my line of sight.

"The twins are fine," he assured me. "You had a bit of bleeding but it's stopped now."

"They're okay?" I asked because I couldn't quite believe it. Sherlock nodded and kissed the back of my hand.

"They're okay," he repeated.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. Sherlock looked scared out of his mind and I wasn't sure if it was because he had been worried about where I had disappeared to, because I was in hospital… _again_ , or because of the twins. Whatever the reason, it was _my_ fault that he looked like that. I had left without telling him, without explaining or talking to him about anything. I had gone for that walk without my mobile. I had wanted to keep the baby.

"Don't be," he responded quietly.

"I just—I heard you and John talking and I thought it would be better if you had some space," I tried to explain because I _had to_ , I had to tell him that I hadn't left because I was leaving forever. "I should have told you. I should have talked things through. But when I heard you talking I got so upset—I didn't think."

"I hadn't meant for you to hear us," Sherlock admitted. "I should have guessed that you would. In retrospect I should have taken John up on his offer to go for a drink."

"I shouldn't have run out like that." My eyes filled with tears that I tried desperately to blink away. Sherlock put a hand on my head, running his thumb across my forehead.

"I want the twins," he said quietly. "I want you to be happy."

"But—but what about you?" I sniffled. "You don't—" Sherlock gave me a small smile.

"I gave it some thought while you were away," he responded. "The chances that the twins will be born with above average intelligence are quite high. And as John said, we can always get a sitter when we're on a case." He looked down at the bed before going on in a quite voice.

"And I don't much care for the thought of you never coming back to Baker Street."

"Good," I sighed as I dried my eyes. "Because I want to come home."

* * *

Sherlock and I were in to see Dr. Davies for my five month scan. This one was particularly exciting as it was time for us to find out the gender of the twins.

"How're we feeling today?" Dr. Davies asked cheerfully as she walked into the room.

"Fine," I replied with a wide smile. "Can't wait to see what the twins are."  
"Got the names picked out?" she wondered as she squeezed some gel onto my stomach.

"Well, we've got two," I replied. "One for a boy and one for a girl, so let's hope it's one of each." We hadn't been able to agree on two names of the same gender. She put the wand on my stomach and pulled up the scan.

"All right," she said slowly moving the wand around. "There's twin A. And it looks like…it's a girl!" I grabbed Sherlock's hand and beamed at him.

"We're having a girl!" I chirped. He smiled back at me and squeezed my hand.

"And here's twin B." The wand moved over another section of my stomach. "It's a boy!"

" _Really_!?" I cried.

"A boy?" Sherlock repeated in a stunned voice. I looked up at him and his face split into a wide smile.


	36. His Last Vow

Chapter 36: His Last Vow

Two Months Later: Christmas

We'd gone to the country to spend Christmas with Sherlock's parents. They'd insisted on it. Mary and John were invited of course and Mycroft was ordered to come by his mother. Sherlock brought Billy along "to be nice" he said which made me suspicious right away.

"Oh, dear god it's only two o'clock," Mycroft groaned over the sound of _Hark the Herold Angels Sing_ playing on the stereo. "It's been Christmas Day for at least a _week_ now. How can it only be two o'clock? I am in agony."

"You're overdramatic," I muttered as Sherlock straightened the newspaper he was reading. One of the twins kicked and I rubbed the spot on my stomach. I was just over seven months pregnant now. Mary was just about eight months along. I was a few weeks behind her. Getting around was officially difficult.

"Mikey, is this your laptop?" Mrs. Holmes questioned coming over to the table with a basket of Christmas crackers in her hands.

"Upon which depends the security of the free world, yes," Mycroft answered. "And you've got _potatoes_ on it."

"Well you shouldn't leave it lying around if it's so important," his mother scolded him.

"Why are we doing this?" Mycroft demanded gesturing to all the Christmas décor. "We _never_ do this!"

"We are here because Sherlock is home from hospital," Mrs. Holmes reminded him. "And we are _all_ very happy."

"Am I happy too?" Mycroft sniped. "I haven't checked." Mycroft sounded like a griping teenager, an occurrence that I found highly amusing.

" _Behave_ , Mike," Mrs. Holmes ordered.

" _Mycroft_ is the name you gave me," he corrected her. "If you could possibly struggle all the way to the end."

"Mrs. Holmes," Billy said as he handed her a drink.

"Oh, thank you dear," she replied shifting the basket to one hand to accept the drink. "Not absolutely sure why you're here."

"I invited him," Sherlock answered without looking up from the paper.

"I'm his protégé, Mrs. Holmes," Billy added. "When he dies I get all his stuff and his job."

"Nope," Sherlock countered.

"Oh," Billy grumbled. "Well, I help out a bit."

"Closer." Sherlock still hadn't looked up from the paper. Mycroft and Mrs. Holmes looked back and forth between the two of them.

"If he does get murdered or something," Billy said to Sherlock's mother.

"Probably stop talking now," Sherlock advised him.

"Okay," Billy agreed. Mycroft cocked an eyebrow at me but I just shook my head. Sherlock hadn't filled me in on why Billy was really here.

"Lovely when you bring your friends round," Mycroft sniped at his brother.

"Stop it, you," Mrs. Holmes snapped. "Somebody has put a _bullet_ in my boy and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous." She set her drink and the basket of crackers down and grabbed a cup of tea.

"Ah," she remembered. "This was for Mary. I'll be back in a minute." She bustled from the kitchen. Sherlock glanced at his watch. When Mycroft got up and wasn't looking I gave him a questioning look and tilted my head toward Billy who was messing with one of the crackers. Sherlock acted like he didn't see. With an annoyed huff I reached for my mug of tea. Without saying a word, Sherlock got up, walked over, and took my mug. My mouth dropped open and I stared at him as he dumped the contents onto one of his mother's house plants. He came back, put his hands on my shoulders, and leaned down so that he could talk into my ear.

"Don't drink the tea," he instructed in a low voice. John came in from the living room and headed into the sitting room where Mary was. From the look on his face I guessed that he was going to talk to her about the flash drive. He had it in his pocket and had been fiddling with it all day.

"Let's go outside," Mycroft suggested to Sherlock. He tapped his pocket and Sherlock nodded and went to get his coat.

"You shouldn't be out here," Sherlock said when I followed him outside. Mycroft passed Sherlock a lit cigarette.

"I'll stay back a bit," I told him. "It's fine."

"I'm glad you've given up on the Magnussen business," Mycroft said to Sherlock as the three of us walked toward the front gate.

"Are you?" Sherlock questioned.

"I'm still curious, though," Mycroft replied. "It's hardly your usual kind of puzzle. Why do you hate him?" Sherlock turned back to his brother.

"Because he attacks people who are different," he answered sharply. "And preys on their secrets. Why don't you?"

"He never causes too much damage to anyone important," Mycroft reasoned. "He's far too intelligent for that. He's a business man, that's all. And occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil, not a _dragon_ for you to slay."

"A dragon-slayer," Sherlock contemplated the title, turning his back so that we were all looking out over the fields around the house with our backs to the front door. "Is that what you think of me?"

"No," Mycroft answered. "It's what you think of yourself."

"Are you two smoking?" Mrs. Holmes' voice demanded from behind us. We all whipped around and Sherlock and Mycroft hid their cigarettes behind their backs.

"No!" Mycroft said at once.

"It was Mycroft!" Sherlock said at the same time. His voice was tight which I knew was because he had just taken a drag from the cigarette and was trying to hold in the smoke. I bit my bottom lip to hold in my laughter. I'd never seen them behave this way and I loved it. Their mother gave them a stern look as she backed into the house and shut the door. As soon as she was gone, Sherlock exhaled a steady stream of smoke.

"I love your mum," I snickered. Sherlock rolled his eyes at me and we turned our backs on the house again.

"I have, by the way, a job offer I should like you to decline," Mycroft said as he rolled his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger.

"I decline your kind offer," Sherlock replied sounding confused.

"I shall pass on your regrets." Mycroft looked pleased that Sherlock didn't fight him on it.

"What was it?" Sherlock wondered.

"MI6. They want to place you back into Eastern Europe. An undercover assignment that will prove fatal to you in, I think, about six months." Sherlock was about to put his cigarette back in his mouth but he stopped and turned to Mycroft.

"Then why don't you want me to take it?" he wanted to know.

"Because you're about to become a father!" I reminded him sharply. Sherlock glanced at me.

"Yes, but still. Why not?"

"It's tempting," Mycroft agreed before I could say anything. "But on balance, you have more utility closer to home."

" _Utility_ ," Sherlock scoffed. "How do I have utility?" He took a drag of his cigarette.

"Here be dragons." Mycroft shrugged. He took a drag of his own cigarette and coughed.

"This isn't agreeing with me." He dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under the heel of his shoe. "I'm going in."

"You need low tar," Sherlock reminded him as he strode back to the house. "You still smoke like a beginner." Mycroft stopped but didn't turn back to us.

"Also," he paused. "Your loss would break my heart." Sherlock was in the middle of taking a drag and inhaled sharply before coughing hard several times.

"What _the hell_ am I supposed to say to that?" he demanded. Mycroft turned to us.

"Merry Christmas?" he suggested with a shrug.

"You _hate_ Christmas," Sherlock pointed out.

"Yes," Mycroft mused. "Perhaps there was something in the punch." He smirked.

"Clearly," Sherlock agreed. "Go and have some more." Mycroft went back inside. Sherlock blew out a stream of smoke and turned to me.

"What's going on?" I asked. "What's in the tea?"

"Nothing harmful," he promised. "Everyone will be fine." I frowned and glanced at the house.

"Sherlock—" I began.

"Did you really think I would have taken it?" He studied me. "Even if Mycroft hadn't asked me not to?" I took a step back and circled my stomach with my arms.

"I thought," I answered slowly. "That you might try to take it just to spite Mycroft." Sherlock chuckled and put out his cigarette.

"I suppose that's fair." He put his hand on my stomach. "How're they doing today?" I smiled at him and laid my hands on top of his.

"They've been kicking like mad."

"Mr. Holmes," Billy's voice called. We turned and saw him leaning out the front door.

"C'mon." Sherlock put his arm around my shoulders and steered me inside. Once we were inside Sherlock went immediately to the sitting room and opened the door.

"Don't drink Mary's tea," he advised John. "Oh, or the punch." He grabbed his scarf from the hook by the front door. I followed him as he went into the living room where his father was passed out on the sofa. He put a hand by his father's nose and then swept into the kitchen. His mother and Mycroft were passed out at the table. Mycroft's head was resting on top of his laptop, Sherlock checked them as well. Billy was leaning against the sink, watching us.

"Did you just _drug_ my pregnant wife!?" John barked as he stormed into the kitchen.

"Don't worry," Sherlock assured him. "Wiggins is an excellent chemist."

"I calculated your wife's dose meself," Billy put in. "Won't affect the little one. I'll keep an eye on her."

"He'll monitor their recovery," Sherlock said as he put on his scarf. "It's more or less his day job."

"What the hell have you done?" John asked quietly.

"Deal with the Devil." A faraway look crept into Sherlock's eyes. He explained that before he had set up his trap for Mary he had met with Magnussen and promised to give him Mycroft if Magnussen would show him Appledore.

" _Jesus_ ," John breathed as he rushed out of the room.

"Sherlock," he called. " _Please_ tell me you haven't just gone out of your mind." Sherlock put on his gloves and slipped Mycroft's laptop out from underneath him.

"I'd rather keep you guessing," he called back. The sound of a helicopter coming closer filled the air.

"Ah," Sherlock said to me. "There's our lift."

"Where're we going?" I asked.

" _You're_ not going anywhere," he replied. "You'll stay here and help Wiggins keep an eye on things."

"I will not," I snapped. "If you're going then so am I."

"No, you _can't come_ ," Sherlock scolded me. "You're pregnant."

"You _can't go_ ," I argued. "I'm pregnant."

"Infuriating woman," Sherlock grumbled as John came back into the kitchen and we went outside. I smirked as I followed after them. The helicopter landed in the field

"Coming?" Sherlock asked John.

"Where?" John demanded,

"Want your wife to be safe?" That didn't answer the question.

"Yeah, of course I do," John snapped.

"Good, because this is going to be incredibly dangerous," Sherlock answered." One false move and we'll have betrayed the security of the United Kingdom and be imprisoned for high treason. Magnussen is quite simply the most dangerous man we've ever encountered and the odds are comprehensibly stacked against us." Well that explained why he didn't want me coming along, not that that was going to stop me. I knew he thought that no one was worse than Magnussen but I still thought he was wrong. In my mind Moriarty was must worse. He would _always_ be much worse.

"But it's _Christmas_ ," John complained.

"I feel the same," Sherlock sighed happily but then he realized what John was saying. "Oh, you mean it's actually Christmas. Did you bring your gun as I suggested?"

" _Why_ would I bring my gun to your parents' house for Christmas dinner!?" John cried exasperatedly. Sherlock held out John's coat.

"Is it in your coat?" he asked.

"Yes," John groaned.

"Off we go then." Sherlock led us across the field.

"Where are we going?" John asked.

"Appledore," Sherlock answered. At first, the pilot didn't want to let me on the helicopter. John agreed with him but Sherlock and I were insistent.

* * *

When we arrived at Appledore we were shown in through an indoor garden. Magnussen was sitting in an open room above the garden walkway. I'd seen several men posted around the house, clearly a security detail, but none of them checked us for weapons which I found odd. When we approached Magnussen he waved away the men who had let us in and we were left alone with him. There was a transparent screen showing some video footage but I barely glanced at it.

"I would offer you a drink," he said. "But it's very rare and expensive." He took a sip of whatever was in his glass. Sherlock sat on the long sofa beside him and set Mycroft's laptop between them.

"I suppose I should offer you my congratulations," he added nodding towards me. "You're simply glowing, my dear." I glared at him and none of us responded. Sherlock looked over at the video footage.

"Oh," he noted pleasantly. "It _was_ you." I turned back to screen and saw Sherlock pulling John out of a bonfire.

"Yes, of course," Magnussen agreed. "Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr. Holmes."

" _Hmm_ ," Sherlock mused. John turned and his shoulder muscles tensed when he saw the video.

"The drugs thing I never believed for a moment," Magnussen said. "Anyway, you wouldn't care if it was exposed, would you?" John moved closer to the screen. I turned back in time to see Sherlock shrug at Magnussen's question.

"But look how you care about John Watson," Magnussen pointed out. "Your damsel in distress. Well, one of them. Can't forget about Reilen, can we?" His gaze shifted to me and I looked away. I didn't want to try to hold his gaze.

"You…" John breathed turning back to Magnussen. "Put me in a _fire_ for leverage?"

"Oh, I'd never let you burn, Dr. Watson," Magnussen replied. "I had people standing by. I'm not a murderer. Unlike your wife." He stood and buttoned his suit jacket. John, Sherlock, and I exchanged uneasy glances.

"Let me explain how leverage works, Dr. Watson." Magnussen moved over to the screen, swiping his fingers across it and making it disappear. "For those who understand these things, Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well, apart for _me_. _Mycroft's_ pressure point is his junkie detective brother Sherlock. _Sherlock's_ pressure points are his best friend John Watson and his girlfriend Reilen Turner. There's not much point in going after her as her pressure point is Sherlock. _John Watson's_ pressure point is his _wife_. I own John Watson's wife, I own Mycroft. _He's_ what I'm getting for Christmas." He sat back down on the sofa and held out his hand toward Sherlock.

"It's an _exchange_ , not a gift," Sherlock quipped as he slid the laptop across the cushions. He stood and came to stand with John and me.

"Forgive me but…" Magnussen picked up the laptop. "I already seem to have it." He stroked the underside of the laptop and smirked at Sherlock.

"It's _password protected_ ," Sherlock told him and Magnussen's fingers stilled. "In return for the password, you will give me any material in your possession pertaining to the woman I know as Mary Watson."

"Oh, she's _bad_ , that one," Magnussen remarked. "So many dead people. You should see what I've seen."

"I don't need to see it," John ground out.

"Well, you might enjoy it, though," Magnussen pressed. " _I_ enjoy it."

"Then why don't you _show_ us?" Sherlock questioned.

"Show you Appledore?" Magnussen responded. "The secret vaults? Is that what you want?"

"I _want_ everything you've got on Mary," Sherlock answered in a low voice. Magnussen scoffed and started chuckling. The chuckling turned to laughter.

"You know, I honestly expected something good."

"Oh, I think you'll find the contents of that laptop…" Sherlock began.

"Include the GPS locator," Magnussen finished. "By now your brother will have noticed the theft and Security Services will be converging on this house. Having arrived, they'll find top secret information in my hands. And they'll have every justification to search my vaults. They _will_ discover further information of this kind, then I'll be imprisoned. _You_ will be exonerated. Restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes with Mr. and Mrs. Psychopath and your little girlfriend. Mycroft has been looking for this opportunity for a _long time_. He'll be a very, _very_ proud big brother." He finished his drink and put the glass on the coffee table in front of him. I felt the blood drain from my face. He'd figured it all out. How could Sherlock's plan work now that he'd figured it all out?

"The fact that you know it's going to happen isn't going to stop it," Sherlock told Magnussen.

"Then why am I smiling?" Magnussen challenged. "Ask me."

"Why are you smiling?" John demanded.

"Because Sherlock Holmes has made one _enormous_ mistake," he explained. "Which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves and everything his holds dear." Sherlock shifted slightly so that he was standing further in front of me. Beside him, John did the same. There wasn't much they could do but if there was one thing I could always count on with the two of them it was that they would protect me, if they could. I resisted the urge to put my arms around my stomach. No need to draw his attention to the twins.

Magnussen stood.

"Let me show you the Appledore vaults." He led us into another room and over to a set of wooden doors.

"The entrance to my vaults." He indicated the doors. "This is where I keep you all." He opened the doors and stepped into the room. I had expected a staircase but there was only a room with a chair.

"Okay, so where are the vaults then?" John asked.

"Vaults?" Magnussen turned back to us. "What vaults? There are no vaults beneath this building." He sat down in the chair, smirking at us.

"They're all in here." He gestured to the room and my eyes scanned the walls, looking for a place where a door might be hidden.

"The Appledore vaults are my mind palace." He tapped his temple. "You know about mind palaces, don't you Sherlock? And Reilen does as well if my information is correct." Sherlock swallowed hard.

"How to store information so you never forget it," Magnussen continued. "By picturing it. I just sit here, I close my eyes, and down I go to my vaults. I can go anywhere inside my vaults. _My memories_. I'll look at the files on Mrs. Watson." He lifted his hand like he was going to open a drawer. Sherlock closed his eyes tightly. John's shoulders were rigid with tension. I couldn't breathe. What were we going to do? _How_ could we stop him now? Magnussen's fingers flicked through the air like he was sorting through files. John cleared his throat and a tight smile crossed his face. I was sure, in any other circumstance, this would be funny. After all, I was fairly certain Sherlock and I looked just as silly when we rifled through our mind palaces.

Magnussen hummed and I looked back at him. He held up a hand as though he had chosen a file.

"Oh, this is one of my favorites," he told us, his eyes still closed. "Oh it's so exciting." He acted as though he was flipping through pages. He chuckled.

"All those whack jobs for the CIA," he added. " _Ohh_! She's gone a bit freelance now. _Bad girl_." He started laughing.

"Oh, she's so wicked. I can _really_ see why you like _her_." He mimed putting the file away and closing the drawer. He opened his eyes and looked to Sherlock.

"You see?" he questioned. John cleared his throat again.

"So there are no documents?" he clarified. "You don't actually have anything here?"

"Oh, sometimes I send out for something if I really need it." Magnussen glanced at his watch. "But mostly I just remember it all."

"I don't understand," John said shaking his head.

"You should have that on a t-shirt," Magnussen remarked.

"You just _remember_ it all?" John repeated.

"It's all about knowledge." Magnussen was looking at Sherlock again. "Everything is. Knowing is owning."

"But if you just _know it_ then you don't have _proof_ ," John argued.

"Proof?" Magnussen scoffed. "What would I need proof for? I'm in _news_ , you moron. I don't have prove it, I just have to print it. Speaking of news, you will all be _heavily_ featured tomorrow. Trying to sell state secrets to me." He clicked his tongue in a scolding manner and checked his watch again.

"Let's go outside. They'll be here shortly. Can't wait to see you arrested." He walked away and left the three of us standing in front of the empty room.

"Sherlock, do we have a plan?" John asked but Sherlock just stared into the room. " _Sherlock_?" John stormed away leaving the two of us alone. Sherlock closed his eyes slowly.

"Sherlock?" I reached out and put my hand in his. "It'll be all right, won't it?" It _had_ to be. Sherlock had to have a way out of this.

"I may have to do something," he answered in a low voice. "Something that will—I'm sorry, Reilen, for what I'll have to do."

"Sorry?" I repeated. My heart dropped into my stomach. I was going to lose him again.

' _No,_ ' I pleaded mentally with whatever higher power there was. ' _Not again. I can't do this again._ '

"I'm sorry." He took me by the shoulders and kissed the center of my forehead. "I love you." Then he let go and followed after John. There was nothing for me to do but to follow him.

"I just _love_ your little soldier face," Magnussen was saying when Sherlock and I stepped out onto the stone patio. "I'd like to punch it. Bring it over here a minute." John looked over at Sherlock.

"C'mon," Magnussen urged. "For Mary. Bring me your face." John cleared his throat and moved closer to Magnussen.

"Lean forward a bit and stick your face out." John cleared his throat again.

" _Please_?" Magnussen requested and John did as he asked. "Now, can I flick it?" John scoffed and shook his head.

"Can I flick your face?" Magnussen asked again. John tilted his head so that his cheek was more exposed. Magnussen flicked it once. Twice.

"Oh, I just _love_ doing this," he chuckled. "I could do it all day. It works like this, John. _I_ know who Mary hurt and killed." He flicked John's face again.

" _I_ know where to find people who hate her." _Flick_. _Flick_.

"I know where they live. I know their phone numbers." _Flick. Flick._

"All in my mind palace. All of it. I could phone them _right now_ and tear your whole life down. And I will. _Unless_ you let me flick your face." _Flick_. _Flick_. _Flick_. Sherlock was staring at Magnussen with an icy look in his eyes.

"This is what I do to people. This is what I do to whole countries." _Flick_. "Just because I know. Can I do your eye now? See if you can keep it open. _Hmm_?" He flicked John in the eye and John flinched, shutting it tightly. Magnussen chuckled and did it again. Again, John flinched.

"C'mon for Mary. Keep it open." He raised his hand again.

" _Sherlock_ …" John ground out.

"Let him," Sherlock replied in a low torn voice. "I'm sorry. Just… _let him_."

"C'mon," Magnussen insisted raising his hand toward John's face. "Eye open." His flicked John's eye and John flinched again. Magnussen laughed and tired again.

"It's difficult, isn't it?" he asked. "Janine managed it once. She makes the _funniest_ noises. Shall we see what sort of noise Reilen makes?" His gaze zeroed in on me and I froze. Everything in me went cold. The sound of a helicopter nearing broke in before anyone could say or do anything else. The helicopter came around the house and a spotlight landed on us.

"Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and Reilen Turner," Mycroft's voice commanded over a speaker. "Stand away from that man."

"Here we go, Mr. Holmes," Magnussen called over the noise. The wind from the helicopter blades whipped my hair out behind me. Our scarves and coats fluttered.

"To clarify," Sherlock shouted back to Magnussen, moving slowly over to John's left side. "Appledore's vaults _only_ exist in _your_ mind? Nowhere else. Just there."

"They're not real." Magnussen was smirking up at the helicopter. "They never have been." Sherlock nodded. I stepped up on the other side of John.

"Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and Reilen Turner," Mycroft barked again. " _Step away_."

"It's fine," Magnussen shouted, stepping toward the stairs that led into the yard. "They're _harmless_!" Men in black uniforms with helmets and guns surrounded the patio.

"Sherlock, what'd we do?" John demanded.

" _Nothing_ ," Magnussen called back. "There's nothing to be done. Oh, I'm not a villain. I have no evil plan. I'm a _business man_ , acquiring assets. _You_ happen to be one of them. Sorry. No chance for you to be a hero this time, Mr. Holmes." Sherlock looked over at John. John wasn't looking at him and then he looked at me. Sherlock looked sad. _Broken_.

' ** _Not again_** _!_ ' My eyes were burning with unshed tears. My head started shaking back and forth in tiny little motions. He couldn't go. He _couldn't_.

Mycroft was ordering us to get away from Magnussen again.

"Oh, do your research." Sherlock reached around John's back and into John's right coat pocket. John lifted his arm slightly so Sherlock could pull out the gun. Sherlock walked over to Magnussen, the gun hidden behind his back.

"I'm not a _hero_ ," he continued. "I'm a high-functioning sociopath. _Merry Christmas_!" He raised the gun and fired a single shot into Magnussen's head. Magnussen's body fell over onto the patio. Sherlock tossed the gun down and put his hands in the air.

"Get away from me, John!" he ordered turning and looking at us over his shoulder. "Stay well back! Keep Reilen back!"

" _Christ_ , Sherlock!" John shouted. My hands flew to my mouth, muffling the scream that filled my throat. John's hands flew into the air but I couldn't get mine to move from my face.

" _Don't fire_!" Mycroft shouted frantically into the speaker. " _Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes_! _Do not fire_!" Red laser points danced across Sherlock's face.

"Oh, _Christ Sherlock_ ," John breathed. Sherlock turned to us again.

"Give my love to Mary," he requested. "Tell her she's safe now." He turned back to the helicopter and slowly lowered himself onto his knees. I had seen the tears streaking their way down his cheeks. They mirrored mine.

* * *

"Mycroft you have to _do something_!" I commanded slamming my hands down on top of his desk. "You have to stop this!" Sherlock had been gone a week. They'd put him in solitary confinement "for his protection" while they figured out what to do with him. I'd already tried begging Mycroft to let him spend that time in the flat but he'd refused. Now he was saying they'd decided to send Sherlock away.

"There's _nothing_ I can do," Mycroft snapped. "Sherlock _murdered_ a man. In cold blood. It's been decided that he'll be sent on assignment to Eastern Europe…"

"You said that assignment would be _fatal_!" I took a deep breath and tried to go on in a calmer tone. "Mycroft, the twins _need_ their father. _I_ need him. I can't do this alone."

"You'll hardly be alone," Mycroft remarked. "You family will no doubt come to lend a hand, Mrs. Hudson lives in the downstairs flat, and John and Mary will more than likely be over often for playdates. You needn't worry about money, that's all taken care of."

"This isn't about _money_ ," I ground out. "He is your _brother_. You need to help him. _I_ need you to help him. I never ask for anything, Mycroft, you know I don't. But I'm asking now. I'm asking you to _let him stay_." Mycroft let out a slow breath and leaned back in his chair.

"I can't, Reilen. My hands are tied."

* * *

Sherlock didn't want me coming to the airfield. He tried to convince me that it would be better for us to say our goodbyes at the flat but I wasn't having any of it. When we reached the tarmac Mycroft got out of the car so we could have a few moments alone.

"Don't go," I pleaded clinging to Sherlock's hand. " _Please_." Sherlock drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"I wish I didn't have to," he replied softly. "But there's nothing we can do about it now." I laid my head on his shoulder and let him hold me. It would be the last time for the rest of my life that I would do this.

"I love you," I whispered as tears slid from my eyes. "I'll always love you." Sherlock's arm went around my shoulder and held me against him.

"I love you too," he said. "Don't ever forget that. Don't ever question it, no matter what happens. _I love you_ , Reilen." A car pulled in behind us. John and Mary had arrived.

"Time to go then," I muttered. Sherlock kissed my temple. We climbed out of the car just as John and Mary were getting out of theirs. Mary came over to us.

"Oh…" she sighed as she put her hands on Sherlock's shoulders. They kissed each other on the cheek and then hugged. "Don't worry. I'll keep him in trouble." He smiled as they broke apart.

"That's my girl." Mary went back to John who was still standing a few paces away. John nodded a greeting at us. Sherlock turned to Mycroft.

"Since this will likely be the last conversation I'll ever have with John Watson…would you mind if we took a moment?" Mycroft looked startled and then glanced at the security man standing nearby. He jerked his head toward the plane and the man moved closer to the plane. Mycroft, Mary, and I retreated to the side of the plane as well. Sherlock and John stood separated by a few paces. I couldn't hear their conversation but after a minute John laughed and shook his head. I had a pretty good guess that Sherlock had offered up his full name for John and Mary's baby. Too bad Mary had told me that they were pretty sure it was a girl. They spoke for a few more minutes before John laughed again. I was sure Sherlock had just told John that Sherlock was actually a girl's name. They shook hands and Sherlock came towards us. He was going to get on the plane now. He was going to leave and I would never see him again. I rushed over to him and flung my arms around him.

"I'll name him Sherlock," I promised fiercely. "He'll be just like you. I'll make sure—Sherlock, I _swear_ I will." Sherlock's arms locked around me and he chuckled.

"Don't let Mycroft tell him any stories," Sherlock requested. "Don't let him tell stories to either of them. They'll all be about the East Wind that will come and rip them from the Earth. He's a rubbish big brother and he'll probably be a rubbish uncle."

"Sherlock," Mycroft called. "It's time." Sherlock released me and put his hands on my stomach.

"Take care of them," he said.

"I will," I promised. Sherlock leaned down and kissed me. I tried to make the kiss last, to hold on to this moment.

Sherlock pulled away and kissed my forehead and then he was walking over to the plane. John and Mary came to stand beside me. My legs turned to jelly and I grabbed onto John to keep myself up. Sherlock boarded the plane and I finally let out a sob.

As the plane taxied along the runway I sobbed quietly between John and Mary. The plane lifted into the air.

"Come, Reilen," Mycroft said coming over to us. "I'll take you home."

"Maybe we should," John objected. Mary put her hand on my shoulder.

"Rei?" she asked. "Who do you want to go with?" I shook my head.

"I don't—I don't care," I sobbed. "I don't care." Mycroft sighed softly.

"John, take her home, would you?" he requested. He turned and got back into his car.

"Come on, love," Mary whispered to me. Mycroft's car wasn't moving. He was staring at something. He had his phone to his ear.

"But that's not possible," he objected as he got out of the car. "That's simply _not possible_."

"What's happened?" John asked. A high pitched voice spilled out from inside the car.

 _Did you miss me_? _Did you miss me_? _Did you miss me_? Over and over. Mycroft hung up and dialed another number. He got back into the car. I peered inside. _Moriarty's face was on the screen_.

" _No_ …" I breathed.

"But he's dead," Mary protested turning to John. "Moriarty. You saw him die." John nodded.

" _No_ …"

" _Absolutely_ ," John said. "He blew his own brains out."

" _No_...he _can't_ …"

"So how can he be back?" Mary asked. I felt a panic attack coming on. It was getting harder to breathe and there was a sharp pain in the center of my chest. John turned and looked the way the plane had gone.

"Well if he _is_ …" he noted. "He'd better wrap up warm." Mary and I turned to follow his gaze. The plane had turned around.

"There's an East Wind coming," John finished. As the plane landed the pain in my chest eased. I could breathe again.

" _Sherlock_ ," I sighed, my face breaking into a smile. The twins kicked frantically and my hands cradled my stomach.

"Don't worry," I said to them. "It'll be all right. Daddy's home now."


End file.
